Dumped
by LindseyBee
Summary: Steve Randle has been dumped, and now must return to being overshadowed by his best friend, Sodapop. However, eventually he meets another girl, who looks beyond Soda and right to Steve. Although, this girl can be best described using one word... unique.
1. Chapter 1

**Steve Randle has been dumped. His confidence is shattered -- and when he attempts to rekindle it, his best friend steals the girl. But eventually, he meets another girl. She's very pristine, very proper -- but is she truly as innocent as Steve thinks? **

Setting: Set shortly after _The Outsiders. _Johnny and Dallas are dead. Soda was never dating Sandy. Steve was dumped by Evie.

Please R&R. This is my second fic. My first was a simple one-shot about Soda&Sandy.

-

Steve Randle had been dumped—and not just "we'll-get-back-together-eventually" dumped. But honestly, forevermore, "slapped-across-the-face-first" dumped. And it sort of hurt, too. He'd never been dumped before, and the only way he could describe the feeling was an ache, as though something was tugging on his heartstrings. It wasn't a gentle sort of tug, either. It was a _hard _tug.

But despite the aching tug, Steve was able to recover. He didn't know if he'd been in _love _with Evie—but he did doubt it. He didn't know what love felt like, but whatever it _did _feel like _had _to be stronger than what he'd had with Evie. But still…although his recovery was relatively quick, he was embarrassed—and he had good reason to be, too. Being dumped for the first time ever didn't make him feel real hot.

"Hey, Steve—_Steve Randle_—quit your spacing out and hand me a wrench, will you?" Sodapop Curtis, Steve's best friend, nagged. Steve reached for the heavy wrench slightly reluctantly, but gave it to his companion nonetheless.

Soda surveyed Steve's expression as he accepted the wrench. It was stuck somewhere between the line of irritated and ashamed, and it had been that way for several weeks now. Soda was beginning to get anxious.

"A breakup's never hit you so hard, buddy," Soda commented, leaning over the hood of the blue Mustang he was fixing up.

Steve heaved a groan of exasperation and leaned up against the car, his muscled arms pressed against his chest. He _really _wasn't enjoying this aching feeling.

"_I _ain't ever been broken up with before," Steve grumbled, lighting up a cigarette and taking a long drag on it. Sodapop could only nod in subtle agreement, knowing that his friend's words were true. Steve had _never _been broken up with by a girl—_he _had always ended relationships with his female partners.

"And you know Evie was a real catch, too," Steve continued. His words grew more venomous with every syllable. Despite being embarrassed, he was also downright pissed.

"Yeah," Soda murmured, wiping a sheen of perspiration off his forehead with his filthy sleeve. Soda had learned over the years that agreeing with Steve was a way to avoid any conflicts. If he said "yeah" to most everything, there'd be no room for arguments.

"Anyway…" Steve went on, satisfied with Soda's quick agreement. "I gotta find myself a new girl, Soda. I've been without Evie for three weeks and it's killing me." Steve released his grip on his chest and tipped his head to the side, groaning a little at the absence of a broad. He hadn't accompanied himself to that girlfriendless feeling, nor did he want to. He and Evie had been together for a while and he didn't feel like watching flirtatious girl's crowd Soda like honey attracted flies without having a chick of his own to lean on.

"Yeah," Soda said, complying once more. He wasn't actually listening—usually he really did listen if Steve seemed upset about something, but for now he was mostly focused on the Mustang in front of him.

"Yeah…" Steve's sentence drifted off as another customer, a petite, female customer, entered the garage. His body gave a sudden jolt towards her, which he assumed was because he hadn't laid eyes on another broad in nearly a month now. But he'd picked a good one to start with. As he'd already noticed, she was somewhat petite—definitely shorter than him, reaching no higher than five-foot-two. And she was a fiery girl, meaning a red-head. He hadn't ever been with one of those—mostly blondes and brunettes laid their sites on him. Fire heads and darker-haired girls were yet to come, but there was a first time for everything.

"Soda…" Steve tapped his friend on the shoulder, but Soda shooed him away for the moment.

"Hold on, Steve…" he grumbled, fiddling with the insides of the Mustang. Steve sighed quietly and walked over to the pretty-looking girl, taking matters into his own hands. After all, it _was _his place. He did work here, and she _did_ look like she wanted to ask a question.

"Hey, can I help you?" he called, pacing himself as he reached the girl. He didn't want to seem too forceful—even walking over to a girl oddly could set her off. Some of them were sensitive little broads.

"Oh...hi." The unidentified girl looked up at Steve, although she wasn't showing even the slightest trace of interest in him. Usually if a girl was into Steve, she'd naturally size him up. She wasn't. "Do you work here?"

"Yeah." Steve smiled toothily and scratched the back of his neck innocently. The girl only scarcely returned his grin. She had her sights set on Soda out of the corner of her eye, and Steve's fingers twitched enviously. Nine out of ten times, the chick Steve was into would be interested in Soda—that's why he always tried to hook up with girls when Soda wasn't around. Sure, he liked double dating—it sort of took the pressure out of being "romantic", especially if he wasn't in the mood—but picking up on girls was almost impossible when Soda was around. Who would pick Steve over Soda, honestly? He couldn't blame the broads. Soda was just naturally more…beautiful. Though he and Soda always had good times joking around together, it was sometimes difficult being friend's with Soda.

"Well…" The fire-head's eyes were fully focused on Sodapop by this point, and Steve was now completely let down. This girl was obviously not interested him in the slightest, although Soda was all the way on the other end of the room. "I…I think I want that guy's help," the broad said politely, pointing across the room to Steve's best friend, "but thanks…anyway." She offered Steve a tiny smile and strode off. Steve almost wanted to slap her, despite her being a girl and all. Almost. But only because her smile had been almost sympathetic. He didn't need any sympathy. He could be just as charming and smooth with the ladies as Soda could, and he didn't need Goddamn movie star good looks to do it. All he needed was some booze, a bar, and some willing broads….

That meant it was time to call Two-Bit.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two

R&R, please.

I do _not _own _The Outsiders._

_-_

"Try this on for size…." Steve's cocky friend coughed dramatically, bracing himself for a pickup line that would obviously be as moronic as his previous stolen creations. "'Is it hot in here, or is it just _you_?'"

Steve raised both eyebrows at Two-Bit. His obnoxious friend meant well—he was trying to "instruct" him on picking up chicks. Though the gesture was friendly, it pissed Steve off. He didn't need any _instructing. _He could pick up broads real well if he wanted to, but he just wasn't feeling it. He'd been sipping some booze for the past hour or so, watching as pretty-looking girls walked by him in the bar, but his heart wasn't really into it.

Two-Bit was smiling expectantly at Steve, so he finally spoke up mockingly.

"You been reading the backs of cereal boxes, Two-Bit?" he sneered. Two-Bit's smirk didn't flicker, but instead, broadened.

"Hey, just tryin' to help you out, buddy. You're having a real tough time with this broad thing," Two-Bit remarked, gnawing on the end of his unlit cigarette.

"I ain't having a tough time," Steve snapped, mimicking Two-Bit's actions and retrieving his own cig. "I'm just not feeling it." Exasperated, Steve lit up the cigarette and popped it in his mouth, inhaling heavy puffs of the smoke.

"Well, starting _feeling _it," Two-Bit instructed unhelpfully, gripping Steve's shoulders and shaking him. Steve's eyes narrowed into slits as he shoved his friend away. Two-Bit stumbled backwards a step, but emerged otherwise unharmed. He then opened his mouth to comment, but a suave platinum blonde caught his eye, and he wished Steve a simple _good luck _before striding off.

The irritated greaser finished off his cigarette bitterly before crushing the ashes into the countertop. The bartender eyed him hatefully as his action singed part of the wood, and he spoke up loudly.

"Hey _buddy_, mind not making my work harder?" he hissed, scrubbing furiously at the spot Steve had left with a damp rag.

Despite the bartender's complaint being so non-threatening, Steve already wanted to punch him. He was so pissed—pissed beyond what words could express, and watching one of his buddies hit it off with some chick from across the bar just greatened his fury. Assaulting a brick wall or the streetlamp outside the building right now seemed real appealing; although Steve knew he'd injure himself in the process. He'd deal with the bruising if it meant relieving a little bit of his anger.

But in the end, he decided he'd better not, no matter how bitter he was feeling. A broken hand would mean trouble a work, and trouble at work would mean possible probation—and if he earned himself probation at work, he'd have hell to pay at home. And Soda would probably have something to say about it, too.

The pestered bartender was still glaring at Steve through venomous eyes, but Steve managed to ignore the "look" and demand another shot. The bartender seemed reluctant, but he retrieved the alcohol in the end—but mostly because it was his job. Otherwise, he probably would've cussed Steve out.

Once Steve was given the beer, he swallowed it fully in a few instants. He would've kept on demanding more, but his right eye managed to catch Two-Bit's from across the room. Two-Bit was smiling noticeably at him, with one arm wrapped securely around the familiar blonde. But although he was focused on his catch, he was muttering something in the ear of another girl—a brunette-headed chick. Steve assumed for a moment that Two-Bit was betting on picking up two broads, but suddenly the second girl nodded her head, and strutted her way right over to Steve. Two-Bit winked at his buddy before returning to his previous distraction, and Steve watched closely as the unexpected surprise reached him.

"You must be Steve," the girl said casually, sitting beside Steve and swaying her hips gently as she twirled one manicured nail through her dark locks.

"Yeah…" Steve's eyebrows found themselves rising slowly. One eye was focused on the broad in front of him, while the other was staring at Two-Bit—although Two-Bit had stopped paying attention as of minutes ago.

The girl giggled at Steve's obvious confusion. She had a cute sort of laugh—chirping, like a bird's tweet. But not obnoxiously high-pitched, like some other girl's accursed chuckles.

"Anyway…" she continued, smiling toothily. Her smile was fake—meaning quite clearly bleached professionally. But Steve didn't mind—why would that bother him, after all? "My name's Lisa." She stuck her hand out, but recoiled it after a moment. This "Lisa" chick puzzled Steve—she was definitely into him, although he'd been a recommendation from Two-Bit. But he could tell her appearance wasn't entirely forceful—because she was sizing him up.

"Cute name," Steve complimented, finally inserting himself into the conversation. He noticed Lisa's cheeks color faintly, although that could've just been his imagination. The lights in the bar were dimmed.

"So…the guy with the sideburns—he's your friend?" Lisa questioned, and Steve offered her a brief smile before nodding.

"Yeah—he's a good buddy of mine," he answered, inching towards the girl a bit. He was sort of surprised—most chicks he met at bars would be grinding themselves against him by now. And to be honest, she seemed the type. Not her personality—but her attire. She was dressed scantily, and Steve knew just by a glance that if he gazed over her from a birds eye view that her cleavage would be clearly visible.

"So…" Lisa went on, drumming her fingers against the countertop. "Why don't we buy some drinks? I'll pay…" She reached into her leather purse, slung around her shoulder, but Steve grabbed her hand to stop her.

"Don't worry, baby, _I'll_ pay," he said sweetly, slithering his hand into his jeans. He slammed the money down on the counter, and the bartender retrieved two booze—both heavily alcoholic. Lisa smiled a little and sipped at it, accompanying herself to the taste. Once she was used to it, she drank in gulps, rather than tiny slurps.

Steve was screaming on the inside. He had a feeling he'd scored—one point for him…and maybe half a point could be given to Two-Bit as an _assistance reward. _


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three! [:

R&R if possible, please.

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Outsiders._

-

"It was real great, Soda. You shoulda seen the girl—gorgeous…nice, too." Steve smiled boastingly and surveyed his best friend's expression. Sodapop seemed pleased, so he continued. "Not a bad kisser, either."

Soda grinned at his best friend's dramatic change in attitude. Twenty-four hours ago, Steve Randle had been grumpy, maybe even slightly _depressed_, slouching around only for lack of better reason. Now he actually seemed like he _wanted _to come to work each morning. In the past, Steve only came to work during the afternoons (except on weekends)—but he'd just recently graduated his twelfth and final year of public education, and there was no better feeling in the world than working side-by-side with Soda—and full-time!

"That's real great, Steve," Soda answered perkily. Steve and him were in the break room as of now. Soda was chugging chocolate milk as if he were about to die, and Steve was sipping timidly at a beer, disguised in a plastic cup. He didn't want the manager to barge in and realize he was drinking on the job.

"So…when do I get to meet her, buddy?" Soda pushed on, and Steve nearly choked on his alcohol. Soda…_meet_…Lisa? Why did those three words fit together so horribly in his head? He'd never had trouble introducing his girl's to Soda before—why the sudden hostility?

"Uhh…I dunno, Soda," Steve spluttered, wiping some liquid off his face with his torn sleeve.

"Why don't I meet her after work?" Soda offered, grinning interestedly at the possibility. "You _are _gonna go steady, aren't you? It wasn't just a sorta, uhh, one night stand?" he added, wanting clarification.

"Um…" Steve fingered his knuckles absently, not making eye contact with his best friend. "Well…not _steady_. We just met…and I was gonna take her out tonight…." Steve finally stared into Soda's eyes, smirking anxiously. "And I didn't get laid, buddy, so it couldn't have been a one night stand."

"Oh…" Soda chugged down another gulp of his chocolate milk, then sighed happily and stared at Steve. "Well, whattaya say, Steve? I want to me this Lisa girl. I'm sure I could find a girl by tonight to go out with…. Why don't we double-date?"

"No!" Steve answered, and so melodramatically that Sodapop flinched back. Steve acknowledged the Curtis boy's wince for a moment, then sighed and came up with the nicest explanation he could accomplish.

"Soda…if I tell you something, d'you think you'll get offended?" Steve questioned slowly. Soda hesitated, nodding carefully after a second's consideration.

"No…" Soda murmured finally, although he sounded unsure of his answer. "Yeah, I won't get offended, Steve…. What is it?"

"Well…" Steve heaved a quiet groan before going on. "Soda…I don't think I want you to meet Lisa. At least…not for a while," he admitted, and Soda titled his head to the side quizzically.

"Why not?"

Steve allowed his eyes to downcast to the filthy floor for an instant, but then suddenly they snapped up, blazing and glaring into Soda's. His emotions had shifted abruptly—he'd gone from almost guilty to furious in a second, though he didn't know why.

"Because I said so, Goddamn it—you're always stealing girl's away from me, Soda, and I'm _fucking _sick of it!" Steve exploded. He'd emphasized his speaking when he'd cussed, advertising his obvious anger.

Soda's eyes evolved into wide, shocked discs of hurt, though he was good enough at hiding it—because a second later they looked completely normal again, but it was clear something was hiding beneath them.

"Oh, okay…" Soda said. Actually, it sounded like more of a croak in Steve's opinion, but he didn't remark. There was another moment of silence, which involved Soda reaching into Steve's pocket and retrieving a cigarette. This time, _Steve_ flinched. Soda didn't usually smoke—not unless he was trying to look tuff or was real upset. And he didn't have any reason to try and seem tuff now—Steve already knew he was—so his harsh words must've actually _hurt _him.

"Hey, did you hear that, Steve?" Soda muttered randomly, perking his ear towards the break room exit as he lit the cigarette and inhaled the smoke. "I think someone's out there. I'd better go help them." Then he left, though Steve had only one thought on his mind as his betrayed friend trailed away:

_I didn't hear anyone come into the garage._

-

Sorry this one's sort of short. The next one should be the usual length. (: Remember to R&R!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four.

Please R&R.

I do not own _The Outsiders._

-

The moment the tiny hand of the clock flickered to four PM, Steve checked out of the DX. He brought himself home alone—Soda had left without him, which was unusual but understandable—and dressed himself properly for the date. He only wanted his hair greased up, not his clothing and skin, too.

It didn't take very long for Steve to ready himself. Sure, he cleaned up a bit—but not real well. Great—Lord, he'd just gotten his courage back and Soda had crushed it just by smoking a cigarette.

_Dammit, Soda, I'd bash your pretty-boy face in if you weren't my best friend_, he grumbled to himself, flattening the back of his hair as he peered into the crooked mirror. He didn't mean it, though. He was just—again—downright pissed. He'd been feeling that way a lot lately.

Once Steve was acceptably freshened up, he left his home, fists shoved into his pockets the entire way to the Dingo. It shocked him, but he was actually _wishing _that Soda was beside him, sharing this night with him as a double-date. He was regretting yelling at his best friend—he and Soda had never had a serious argument before. Small things applied—they bickered over poker games when Soda decided that Steve had cheated; and sometimes Soda felt a little bit of unease towards Steve's roguish behavior, but other than that, they never fought. That's the way it had always been—until this previous afternoon.

Steve stopped at the lamppost beside the Dingo and stared at the front door. There was Lisa, right on time, pacing back and forth in front of the glass doors. She was all dolled up, her bronze hair pinned back, framing her face like a halo. She looked real nice.

"Lisa!" he called, and his pretty-looking date turned to face him, smiling.

"Hey, Steve," she replied, heels clicking as she ambled over to him. Steve relished the moments he was gazing at her, grinning. She sure looked great with her hair pulled back like that.

"Shall we?" Lisa offered, walking beside her date. Steve chuckled and nodded his head, holding the bulky door open for Lisa with his hand uncovered by his pocket. Lisa smirked gracefully at his gesture, entering the Dingo as he urged her on.

Steve blushed as he entered. The Dingo wasn't the most respectable place to take a girl, and even he liked to take girls to a decent place on the first date. But Lisa didn't seem to mind, despite her classiness. She grinned and led Steve to the nearest booth, and he took a seat across from her on the velvety red cushion (although it was torn in several places).

"So…tell me…" Lisa said, beginning a conversation. Steve looked up, perking his eyes in Lisa's direction as he removed his fists from his jeans.

"Tell you what?" he insisted, and Lisa went on.

"Your best friend, Sodapop…" she said, and Steve's throat contracted, tightening uncomfortably. Lisa hesitated, noticing Steve's expression contort into something that, surprisingly, resembled fear. Finally, she continued. "I stopped by the DX to fill up my car this morning…. He looked upset," she told Steve, and he let out a sigh of both relief and guilt.

"We got in a fight," Steve admitted, and Lisa nodded her head understandingly.

"About what?"

"Nothing," Steve said shortly, and his date decided to end the subject, recognizing his antagonistic tone.

They were served moments after the topic had been dropped. Steve ordered his usual—fries, a 7-Up, and a hamburger. Lisa ordered one of the most pristine meals Steve had ever witnessed—a salad, lettuce and tomatoes only with low-fat dressing off to the side (which she never even touched), and a water, one lemon and no ice.

They engaged in simple conversation as they ate. Lisa asked about Steve—unimportant questions, like his favorite color, food, etcetera…. Steve didn't talk much. Normally, on first dates, he was the most talkative one—but Lisa had a big mouth; in a good way, of course.

Half-way through the meal, which was pleasantly enjoyable, a familiar face caught Steve's eye. It was a girl—pretty-looking, glaring at him with her lips pursed and arms crossed across her chest. Steve recognized the face almost automatically, even before the female stalked closer to him and Lisa—it was Evie.

He stood up instantly, as though it were second nature. Lisa stared at him uncertainly, following his eyes to Evie, who had finally reached their booth.

"Steve…" she grumbled, casting nasty glances at Lisa. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Steve's eyebrows crawled to his forehead. "I didn't know the Dingo was off-limits. What are _you_ doing here?" he countered.

Evie bit her lip, surveying Lisa from the corner of her left eye. There was obviously envy in her tone and within her expression, which made Steve smirk bitterly.

"This was _our_ date night restaurant," Evie reminded her ex-boyfriend, and Steve laughed a hollow, hostile drawl.

"You _claimed _it?" he demanded, but he never heard the answer, because he slammed some paper money down on the counter and replaced his fists back in his pockets.

"Come on, Lisa, we're going," he said, jerking his head towards his date. Now Evie's eyebrows were at her forehead, while her eyes blazed with dangerous fury.

Lisa seemed confused, though she followed Steve's instructions and stood up. She managed to grab her purse before she was attacked, but an instant later Evie lifted her drink off the table and assaulted Steve's new girl, dumping the icy water that remained in the cup down her cleavage.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five.

R&R, please.

I do not own _The Outsiders_.

Thank you very much to Friday913 for the name "Friday Rae Ida."

-

"What the _HELL_, Evie!? What was—what was—" Steve's eyes hovered over Evie's, glowering. He was beyond words, so he just stared at her, not breaking the glare even when he grabbed a fistful of napkins from the countertop.

Lisa had fallen back into the booth once the water had touched her chest. Now she was shivering, but lightly. That made Steve wonder how iceless water could be so…well…_icy_.

Evie did not answer Steve's furious words, but instead turned around on those heels of hers and strode off. She didn't seem to be admiring her act, though she wasn't entirely guilty-looking, either. Steve didn't know what to feel towards that—whether he be angry or slightly relieved.

"Hey…uh…" the greaser leaned down beside his date. "You all right?"

Lisa nodded her head, her cheeks dangerously red-toned. She answered slowly as she wiped the water off herself, treating every word as if it were its own sentence.

"Who…was that…girl?" she grumbled.

"My ex-girlfriend," Steve muttered, tossing the soiled napkins into the wastepaper basket. He studied his date for a few noiseless moments, then stood up as she completed her cleanup.

"You ready to go?" he questioned, and Lisa smiled meekly and shrugged.

"Yeah. Let's go—I need to get home, anyway. I have a curfew…" she mumbled, blowing an annoyingly loose piece of hair from her eyes. Steve grinned as it refused to obey and tucked it behind her ear. Lisa returned his grin at the gesture.

"Thank you," she said, shoes _click, click, clicking _as she paced towards the exit. Steve went after her, following beside her as she left the Dingo.

"I'll walk you home," he offered. "Where d'you live?"

"No…" Lisa shrank away delicately away from her date, smirking as he arched his eyebrows skeptically. "I just…need to stop somewhere before I go home. And…alone…." Feeling that her explanation was reasonable, Lisa started her journey away from Steve, but he grabbed her shoulder gently to cease her.

"Hold on…" he said. "Hey, uhh, I was just wonderin'…I mean, if you're up for it—"

Lisa held up a manicured nail to Steve's lips, signaling him to be quiet. He only stared, waiting for her to take charge of the sentence.

"Yes, Steve, I'll be your girlfriend," she accepted. Steve's eyes widened somewhat, surprised that she'd known what his mind was cooking up.

Lisa removed her finger from his lips and giggled, that cute little chuckle Steve had grown accustomed to when Two-Bit first set them up. Then she leaned forward slowly, relishing the excited glint in Steve's eyes. When she finally kissed him it was sweet; gentle and innocent. It only lasted a couple of moments, but Steve savored every millisecond of the pleasurable affair—and when his girlfriend pulled away, they were both grinning.

-

"Aww, come _on_, Sodapop, quit bein' a baby and talk to me," Steve pleaded. The evening before had come and gone pleasantly, and it was now early morning. Soda and Steve hadn't walked or driven to work together, and they weren't working too well side-by-side, either.

"Soda…come on, buddy," Steve continued quietly, nudging his best friend in the shoulder as he passed coins out to customers in need of change.

"Steve, why dontcha go on out and _fix a car_, all right?" Soda said sorely, turning his eyes downcast from his hotheaded buddy. Steve gave a sort of mild flinch at his response. Soda had always been more of the forgiving kind, so he must've been awful upset when he'd been shouted at….

"Soda, would you just forgive me and—"

"Fine," Soda said abruptly, staring Steve in the eyes again. "I'm expectin' an apology, then," he commented, though Steve could only glare. _Apologize? _Soda had been the one who started it all—_he _was the one who kept stealing away Steve's potential girls. And whether it be accidental or intentional, Soda still enjoyed every moment of his flirtatious attention.

"I'll _apologize _when hell freezes over," Steve spat, watching guiltily as a trace of pain flickered beneath Soda's irises.

"Have it your way…" he murmured, exiting the convenience store. This time, Steve didn't chase nor call after him. He had an aching feeling he'd crossed the line with that _hell freezes over _remark.

To possibly ease some of his fury, Steve worked on a car that had been dropped off in the previous hour. It wouldn't start, the bumper was wrecked—falling half-off, while the metal of the car was shattered in some places. The tires could use changing, too.

Once Steve set his car-savvy mind to work, it indulged most of his time. He kneeled down under the hood, fiddling with the complex insides. But in between his work, someone shouted a greeting.

"Hello!"

Steve flinched, slamming his forehead on the top of the hood. He winced, rubbing the pulsing bruise on his skull.

"What the hell?" he grumbled, glaring at the female who had caused him to injure his scalp.

"Hi!" she chirped. A petite, sepia-haired, brown-eyed girl was standing before him. She was cute enough, though Steve was still irritated with her.

"Hi…" he mumbled, returning to his work. "Whadda want?"

"Oh, that's my car you're workin' on. It's not done yet?" she questioned cutely, circling the car's angles.

Steve eyed the girl disbelievingly.

"Ain't you a little young to drive?"

The unidentified girl gasped a little, as though offended.

"I'm fifteen-going-on-sixteen, thank you very much," she clarified, patting the hood of the car. "You know, I'm pretty good with cars, too."

Steve laughed aloud, staring amusedly at the ruined bumper.

"I can see that—what'd you do to this thing, anyway?"

"Crashed into a wall," the girl answered. She cocked one single eyebrow, which vaguely reminded Steve of Two-Bit. "Right on the highway, too."

Steve emerged from under the hood of the vehicle, pummeling the broad with an array of questions.

"How the hell did you crash into a wall on the highway?"

"Well, there was this six-wheeler truck—"

Steve held his palm up at the girl, silencing her.

"Never mind. What's your name, kid?"

"Friday Rae Ida," the chick answered musically, singing her name.

"_Friday_?—your initials spell Fri, you know," Steve answered, chuckling at the coincidence.

"I'm aware," Friday commented. "My real name ain't Friday, though. It's Jean. Jean Rae Ida. But that spells Jri…and it isn't that hot of a name, anyway," she explained, still examining each angle of her vehicle. "Anyway…any idea when my car'll be finished?"

Steve stood up, wiping the motor oil from his hands onto his jeans and slamming the hood shut.

"Should take a few days. You did a real number on your car."

"I'm sorta accident prone," Friday giggled, going noticeably red around the ears. Embarrassed now, she faced away from Steve, which amused him. "I should get going…. Places to be, you know. I'll stop by tomorrow."

With that, she left, and Steve laughed loudly once he was positive she was out of earshot. Some fifteen-year-old had a crush on him. She was pretty cute, too—but unfortunately for her, Steve had Lisa. And he intended to keep it that way.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter six.

Please R&R.

I do not own _The Outsiders_, only Lisa and Friday.

-

Steve worked overtime that evening at the DX. Although he wasn't actually _paid _extra for that time he put in, he didn't have anything better to do until six when he met up with Lisa. Besides, he had to work on that Friday girls' car.

Speaking of Friday, she showed up. Again. Just a short hour later she was back, leaning against the bumper of her car and grinning broadly. Steve didn't mind her presence, but he wasn't exactly pleased with it, either. She sort of distracted him. She was a real character—unlike anyone he'd ever met before.

"Hey, mechanic guy," Friday said, after several minutes or so of intently watching Steve work. "What's your name? You never told me." She paused. "Shouldn't you have a name tag on or something?"

"I work at a gas station, not a restaurant," Steve remarked, scratching his temple as he worked on the car. "And my name's Steve."

"People have two names," Friday reminded him, unsatisfied with his reply.

Steve let out a long sigh and stood up straight, leaning against the metal of the vehicle.

"Steve _Randle_."

"Randle? I know someone named Randle. I met him up North…. But, uhh, he spells his name R-A-N-D-A-L…. Wait, how d'you spell your last name?" Friday babbled.

Again, Steve sighed, although this time it was more of a groan.

"Don't you have somewhere to be, kid?"

"Don't _you_?"

"Me?" Steve's eyebrows extended anxiously to his forehead. "Well…yeah, I do. I'm meetin' my girlfriend tonight."

"Oh…" Friday recoiled slightly, her expression becoming noticeably eerie. She seemed to regret asking Steve any questions. "You've got a girlfriend?"

"Yeah. I've got a girlfriend," Steve answered robotically, setting his tools back on the counter in the garage. The clock read five-thirty, and he would need some time to freshen up.

Friday stalked beside the greaser as he made his way towards the exit. Her features were a mixture of dreaminess and resentment.

"I bet she's pretty," she sighed.

"She's real pretty," Steve agreed distractedly, rummaging through his pockets for a cigarette.

"Yeah…" Friday glared away, her brows hitched together, knitted to look disappointed. Steve considered commenting, but he decided against it. What was he supposed to say? _So you've got a sort of crush on me, huh, kid? Well, sorry that I'm taken. _Yeah, right. Besides, Friday was nearly three years younger than him. Not that he usually focused much on age, but….

"I'd better go," Friday interrupted quietly. The sky was darkened, the clouds seeping across the horizon in an inky black color, like pen on dark blue paper. "It's nearly six. Gotta get home—my brother's probably back from football practice."

Mostly to humor her, Steve formed a question to co-exist with her words.

"You've gotta brother? What's his name?"

Friday smiled widely and tucked some of that thick hair of hers behind her ears.

"His name's Randal. He was born up North."

-

Steve headed on home after several more eventless minutes of conversation with Friday. That broad was real interesting, despite being slightly annoying. Real interesting….

He arrived home, greased and combed back his hair, and he was ready to go. The plan was to meet up at Lisa's house for dinner—she was cooking, naturally. Steve wasn't a real good chef. Never had been, never would be.

Unfortunately, as Steve's foot exited the door—actually, that was the only part that had made it out—the phone was ringing loudly, making him flinch and turn back around. He picked it up uninterestedly, assuming it was Two-Bit or something. It might've been Soda, but that was unlikely in their current situation.

"Hello?"

"Steve? It's Lisa."

Steve hesitated, noticing the potent slur hitched on to Lisa's tone. It wasn't real dangerous-sounding, but questionable enough….

"Lisa?"

"Hey…" she said dreamily. Steve couldn't help but to wonder if she'd been drinking or something. But she was Lisa—pristine girl like her, _drinking_? Impossible. "I've got to cancel our date. I'm sorry. But…uh, I-I made other plans," she spluttered.

Stammering. Canceling plans. Steve couldn't smother his suspicion.

"Yeah?" he mumbled stubbornly. He hated it when plans were canceled, especially plans with chicks. And this last-minute thing only broadened his irritability. "What's goin' on?"

"Just some family stuff," Lisa answered. "Sorry, Steve. See you tomorrow?" she offered, leaving her words lingering questionably.

Steve heaved a sigh and nodded his head, but then remembered Lisa couldn't see him and gave a verbal response.

"Yeah. See you tomorrow."

The phone clicked softly, and the conversation had ended. Steve hung up the phone rather violently and stalked over to the couch, planting himself against the cushions. The weekend and without a single plan…. Two-Bit was probably busy, hooking up with broads down at some dinky bar, or maybe in that souped-up car of his with a girl…. His only other options were Soda, Darry, and Ponyboy. Soda was pissed at him—Darry was too serious or caught-up most of the time for anything enjoyable—and he considered Pony a tagalong. He wasn't much interested in him—not Darry, either. Only Soda. But Soda wouldn't speak to him. Maybe if—

The phone was ringing again, and obnoxiously. Steve lugged himself off the couch and retrieved the call with a groan. He was partially wishing it was Lisa, calling back to reignite their plans. But it wasn't. Surprisingly, it was Sodapop….

"Steve, is that you?" Soda asked—no, whimpered. He whimpered it.

"Soda…" Steve had meant for his reply to sound sharp, but he couldn't manage the sternness with Soda's tone sounding so broken. "Yeah, Soda, it's me."

"Steve…I gotta tell you something. But I need you to come over to hear it."

Instinctively, Steve agreed, although he didn't really think it was that hot of an idea. Soda and him were fighting. What if Soda still wanted an apology? Steve didn't think he'd be able to give him one without snapping. But he had to go. What sort of best friend would he be if he didn't?

"Okay, Soda. I'll come over. See you soon."


	7. Chapter 7

I do not own _The Outsiders._

Chapter seven.

Please, R&R. [:

AN: Soda's birthday is mentioned in this. I didn't know it so I just used Rob Lowe's.

-

Steve groaned internally as he stood outside the Curtis household. He could see Soda's outline through the window, sitting on the couch. What could be the problem? Girl troubles? No, it was hardly ever girl troubles….

Steve entered, though he stumbled backwards when he saw his friend. He was crying. Soda was _crying_. He hardly ever cried—Soda was tough, he could take most anything. Why was he crying…?

"Soda…" Steve sighed shakily and seated himself beside his friend. Soda didn't remark on his entrance. Instead, he handed over a piece of paper. It seemed to be a letter. Steve assessed it with little interest, then stared over at Soda.

"What's this?"

"Read it…."

_January 18, 1968._

_Dear Sodapop Patrick Curtis,_

_Due to lack of US troops, the American army has drafted you to serve in the Vietnam war._

Steve's eyes halted themselves right there, though they mostly lingered on two words: _Vietnam war._ This couldn't happen. This letter seemed too…surreal. Soda couldn't get drafted—he was Sodapop, for Christ's sake! Reckless Soda… Steve continued down the letter, realizing there was much, much more to come.

The words on the paper spoke of Soda's lack of education—how he dropped out and that he seemed to have little interest in further colleges or academies. Then it continued, droning on and on of what a _great honor _it was to serve your country. And then something about refusal and how it could result in jail time.

The very end of the letter gave the date Soda would be shipped away, taken to another country to serve…serve against his will….

_You will be stationed in Vietnam, beginning March twentieth—three days after your eighteenth birthday. We look forward to your enrollment in the US military. More information will be given upon your arrival._

The final script on the paper was illegible signatures, signed by what Steve assumed were countless generals and government officials. So many people wanted Soda for theirs—to take him away from his home. His family. His _friends_. What the hell was Steve supposed to do without him? He couldn't just stay in Tulsa, sitting back and watching…and wondering, too…. What if Soda was sent back, but in a little black coffin? Or maybe…maybe he'd be sent back, but with half his limbs blown off. Steve couldn't just sit back and let that happen.

"This has gotta be a joke, right, S-Soda?" Steve stammered, handing the eerie letter back to the middle Curtis. "March twentieth…. That's in two months…."

"I-I know…" Soda whimpered. He was still bawling, so Steve glared away from him.

"What…what the hell are we supposed to do? You can't go, Soda…."

"I don't think I'm bein' given much of a choice, Steve…."

"Well—what am _I _supposed to do? Sign my ass up for Nam, too?"

To this, Soda slammed his fists on the coffee table and stood up.

"Are you crazy?! You ain't going, Steve. You've gotta stay here…"

Steve countered Soda's words with a furious, "And do _what_? Watch you get your pretty-boy ass killed?"

"I-I ain't gonna get myself killed! Dumb people like me probably do good in war…" Soda murmured sorrowfully, directing his eyes away from his hotheaded best friend.

"Soda, shut up! Just shut up!" Steve was surprised to realize his ears were getting hot, probably as a result of a whole bushel of emotions. His eyes were filling with blinding tears. His mouth was dry. His stomach ached, as though tightened into a knot. God, this wasn't happening….

"But—"

"I said _shut up_!" Steve exploded, clutching the doorknob as he readied himself to exit Soda's home. "I'll talk to you later, Soda…. I just…can't…." And he left, letting his sentence hang unfinished from his mouth.

The next several minutes consisted of Steve, pacing back and forth in front of the Curtis household with his fists jammed forcefully into his pockets.

_Jesus Christ, Soda…. You should've finished school, buddy…. What am I gonna do? Dear God…_ He leaned his back against the withering tree beside Soda's home, wiping his palm continuously across his cheeks to rid them of any wetness. What _was _he supposed to do? Was he actually _considering _signing up for Vietnam, too? Maybe he would. Soda and him had always been a package deal…. One without the other just seemed…sickening…impossible….

Steve was walking now. He didn't know where, and he didn't know how far he'd end up—but he was walking. And violently, too. The soles of his feet hit the ground with rough, loud thuds that his ears could clearly register. By the time he quit his stalking because of a familiar voice, each foot was throbbing.

"Steve! Hey…that you!?"

Steve had learned to recognize that tone easily by now. Friday…. Where'd she come from, anyway? Perhaps he'd passed her home?

"Steve, hold on! Wait!" He was walking again. Slowly, tediously—but walking.

Friday reached him, although Steve refused to look at her. If she annoyed him in even the slightest way he _knew _he'd have to hit something, whether it be her or the cement. He was like a time bomb—set to blow at the first available instant.

"Hey, Steve…. What's…the matter?" Friday asked carefully, nearly frightened by his current expression. She ambled a step backwards, and Steve breathed out a hard sigh.

"Nothing. Get lost."

"You seem upset…."

"I _ain't _upset."

"But…I can help…."

"You _really _don't know when to shut your trap, do you, kid?" Steve snarled.

Friday arched an eyebrow, vaguely reminding Steve of Two-Bit once again, and just that simple gesture caused him to soften a little.

"I just wanna help…."

Steve assessed her offer. He'd decided only a few minutes ago that he was heading to the Dingo. He didn't see any use of her except maybe a free coke, but that was reason enough….

"Fine. I'm heading to the Dingo," Steve said darkly. "You wanna come along?"

"_Me?_ Well I'd lo—l-like to, I mean," Friday replied, failing at an attempt to be subtle. "Yeah, sure. That'd be great. Which way's the Dingo?"

Steve smirked and gestured down the street, leading Friday to the restaurant. The infamous hangout wasn't too far—maybe only a block or two. They walked silently, Friday smiling the entire time while Steve mostly scowled.

They made it there without trouble—on the contrary, the real trouble began when Friday pointed out something that caused Steve's time bomb to become an atomic bomb in only an instant.

"Lord—see that couple over there? Talk about needing to get a room, huh?"

Steve's eyes wandered uninterestedly over to the pair. He expected it to be another greasy girl, maybe Sylvia—Evie, even. But it wasn't. The person Steve witnessed across the room was his "girlfriend", Lisa, sucking face with another handsome greaser guy.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter eight; please R&R. [:

I do not own _The Outsiders_.

Sorry that this chapter is a bit shorter than usual.

-

"_LISA_!" Steve's voice bounced across the length of the restaurant, causing Lisa's ears to perk and her to look up. At first, she was uninterested. _Then _she realized who had shrieked her name.

"Steve!" she cried, pushing the handsome greaser boy from her side. "What're you d-doing here?" she added shakily. Her voice was a slur, which made Steve realize there was a couple of beer bottles by her side.

"To _hell _with what I'm doing here—what are _you _doing with _him_?" Steve screamed. His voice had gained the attention of every eye in the Dingo, but he paid them no mind as he stalked closer to his girlfriend.

"I—" Lisa's eyes scuttled desperately around the room, looking for something to counter his demand with. Then she found Friday, who was following slowly beside Steve. "Never mind me. What about _her_? What are you doing with that—that _bitch_?"

Friday gasped aloud, her ears going red.

"I—I am not…what you said. _You're_—uhh…what you said," she exclaimed quietly, shielding her face ashamedly with one hand. Friday had never been one to toss insults around, and she didn't particularly want to begin in a diner full of dozens of people.

"Shut up, you little whore. I bet you and Steve—"

"LISA, SHUT UP!" Steve exploded. His fist collided furiously with the nearest booth, reddening his knuckles.

"Whatever, Steve. You're a bad kisser, anyway," Lisa snapped, then looked away, glaring into the face of her new beau. Steve sensed the conversation had ended by the way her expression seemed, so he chose not to remark and simply trudged out. Friday followed after him, embarrassed of the eyes that were focused on her back as she left.

Steve shouted out and leaned against the side of the building once he was outside. Friday assessed him uneasily, watching his eyes dart back and forth between the Dingo and a lamppost in the distance.

"So…" she said cockily, making a careful attempt to lighten the mood. "You're a bad kisser, huh?"

"I ain't a bad kisser…" Steve growled under his breath.

Friday giggled girlishly and nudged Steve in the shoulder.

"Hey, I was just joking. I'm sure you're a great kisser," she complimented sweetly.

Steve looked away from her, but only because he couldn't help but to grin a little.

"You're a real character, aren't you, kid?" Steve remarked, and Friday nodded automatically.

"Yeah, I've been told that before." She paused for an instant. "Anyway, why were you angry earlier?" she added gingerly.

Steve sighed and hugged his arms around himself, leaning his back harder into the cement of the building.

"My friend, Soda…" he admitted reluctantly.

"The good-lookin' one that works with you at the gas station?"

"Yeah, the _good-looking _one," Steve hissed, emphasizing his hatred that seemed to pop up whenever the words "good-looking" and "Soda" were involved in the same sentence.

Friday shrank away from the angry greaser slightly, her hands rested anxiously on her hips.

"Go on…" she urged.

Steve only spoke one word in response: "Vietnam." Friday examined his explanation, though she was clever enough to realize what it meant in only a few moments.

"He's going to Vietnam?"

"Yeah…" Steve answered bitterly.

"Did he sign up or…?"

"No, he was drafted," Steve sighed. "He didn't do real well in school. He's a dropout—perfect target for the Goddamn government," he continued viciously.

"I see…" Friday said understandingly. "Well…I know what you're going through… I mean, there was this one time—" and with that, the empathetic girl went on the explain her family escapades to Steve. Most of the stories weren't even skirting the tragedy of Steve's situation, but he still secretly appreciated her concern. When she was finished babbling, though, he'd barely heard a word she'd said due to lack of paying attention.

"That's real nice, kid…" Steve muttered, answering to Friday's silence as she finished her stories. The next few moments were quiet—uncomfortably so, which caused Friday to naturally entangle her words with the silence.

"By the way, I wasn't trying to…uh…offend you when I said Soda was good-looking," she said honestly. "Besides, I…"—she swallowed before continuing—"I think you're better looking than him…."

Steve surveyed the girl before him for about a minute, then smirked when he'd decided she wasn't fibbing.

"Thanks, Friday."

Maybe this chick wasn't so annoying after all.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter nine.

Please R&R.

I do not own _The Outsiders._

-

Hours passed after the unfortunate incident at the Dingo. Steve was as acidic as ever, which only made Friday try harder to cheer him up. She wasn't sure what to say, though. She didn't know what cheered him up, only what made him angry—which seemed to be a lot of things. Friday had realized quickly that Steve had quite a temper.

They walked around awkwardly for a short while, wordlessly staring down the street. They didn't know where they were going, and they didn't know when they would stop, but they knew it'd be sometime soon. Friday had begun yawning every few minutes, signaling how tired she was. And Steve mostly wanted to go home and sulk—and maybe call Soda.

"So…" Friday struggled to begin a somewhat intriguing conversation. She wasn't good at reviving awkward sort of silences—she was decent at causing them, but not digging them out of hushed ruts. "Um…what d'you like to do for a hobby?" she asked. She was marching in front of Steve, but backwards so that the frontal part of her body was facing him.

"I like to work on cars," Steve said shortly.

"Anything else…?"

"I like to…" Steve delayed his words to consider the question. He wasn't sure what to reply, so he stated the obvious. "Umm…drive…?" he continued. It sounded like a sentence to Friday, so she giggled.

"Drive," she breathed, fluttering her eyelashes. "Really. That sure isn't something I would've suspected…."

"Aw, shut up." Steve smirked briefly at her, but it quavered back into a scowl in an instant. "All right, what do _you_ like to do?"

"I like to skateboard," Friday answered confidently.

"Skateboarding? Wasn't that a fad?"

"Not to me. I've got one of those old ones—from the nineteen-fifties, I think. My dad used to own one a couple years back…" Her sentence trailed off distantly, and she replaced her words with a grim little smile. "I'm not very good, though. I'm all right, I guess. Amateur-ish." Friday yawn deeply, and for about the billionth time that evening. They reached her house, although Steve didn't realize it until she pointed it out. "Hey, this is my stop." Friday's house was bulky, bigger than Steve would've suspected. It sort of reminded him of a soc house, but there were less shutters and it was lacking a garage.

"Nice place…" he mumbled, examining it almost enviously. Friday took notice of his expression and grinned proudly, reaching the entrance and opening it slightly. The door hinges creaked obnoxiously.

"You wanna come in?"

"I'm good," Steve declined. "I gotta get home and…call Soda…" He nibbled on his lower lip, and Friday bobbed her head understandingly.

"Okay. See you tomorrow…?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Work on my car, will you? I miss driving."

"Well, at least for a couple days you ain't driving under aged…."

Friday pursed her lips into a trivial pout. "I'm almost sixteen."

"Yeah. _Almost_."

"Shut up, car boy," Friday countered, stepping into her home. Her body was half-way through the doorframe, so she added to her comeback before diminishing entirely behind it. "And another thing—get a name tag."

Steve was no longer able to scowl. Friday had eliminated it.

"Don't hold your breath on that."

-

The alarm clock was whining in Steve's ears as it usually did each morning, so the exhausted greaser leaned over to shut it up. When his fingers refused to find the correct button, he propelled it off the bedside. Steve weakly registered the thud it made when it hit the floor. He attempted to assemble two more minutes' worth of sleep, but he was already up and couldn't drift back. So he clawed his way out of bed, pulling on a pair of stained jeans and rolling the cuffs down so that they shielded his ankles. This was the most tired Steve had felt in weeks, because he'd been consoling Soda for hours the night before. Hell, Soda wasn't even coming into work today. He was that depressed about the whole drafting situation. Steve wouldn't ever admit it, but his feelings were identical. And on top of that, he still wasn't sure what to do—sign up for Nam, or obey Soda and sit back and…and watch. He didn't know which would be more painful.

Steve readied himself to some extent in the bathroom then lugged himself to work in an attempt to wake up. The cold January air worked flawlessly, which left Steve rubbing the remaining sleep out of his eyes as he arrived at the DX. Just as he'd been informed, Soda hadn't come in. It was one of the only days of work his best friend had ever missed.

No cars had pulled up to the gas station yet. After all, it _was _seven o'clock in the morning, and on a Saturday. Who got up at that time? The only people Steve could imagine were workaholics and joggers, both of whom didn't need any gas. Well—maybe the workers would, but they probably all got their fuel the evening before.

Friday arrived quite punctually, only twenty minutes after Steve. This surprised him, because he never would've thought some unordinary broad like her would ever get up at seven AM just to hang around a gas station all day.

She greeted him with a light, "Hey, Steve." Her hair was pinned behind her head, hanging above her neck in a messy sort of ponytail. Oddly, though, it suited her.

Steve returned her hello and got to work on the car. The gears were a clutter of motor oil and dented parts. Maybe Friday had distracted him more than he'd realized last time she'd come around.

"Your car is a real mess," Steve said darkly, wiping the oil on his pants and sitting up, knees against his chest. "See? You talk to me and my work gets sloppy. That's why you gotta learn to keep your mouth shut sometimes."

"I make your work more interesting," Friday pointed out. "Really, how fun is it to just sit there all alone under the hood of a car?"

"I'm all right with it. Come here—I need your help. Hold this." Steve removed a lubricated piece of the insides of the car and handed it to Friday, who accepted it reluctantly. That made Steve chuckle. She obviously didn't want to grease up her hands or something. Such a girlish response.

"I thought I only hit a wall…" Friday mumbled, probing the metal of the part Steve had given her.

"Yeah. How did that happen? You said somethin' about a truck…."

Friday sighed and went on to explain the story, "Well, it wasn't actually the truck's fault. I sorta swerved…the car went a little nuts…."

"That's because your car is messed up, that's why," Steve clarified. "Ain't you ever got this thing serviced before?"

"I got it from my brother…" Friday muttered. "I dunno if he did…."

"Obviously not." Steve eased out from beneath the hood of the car and slanted his body against the side door. Friday was smiling at him as she handed the metal piece back, which naturally made Steve grin. She was kind of like Soda in that sense—at least, to him. She sure smiled a lot, which made Steve beam, too.

"Uh, Steve?" Friday said randomly, and he nodded.

"Yeah?"

"Um…" She rubbed the top of her hair nervously, but her expression was held steady and blank, giving away none of what she was thinking. "I—uh—was wonderin'—" She was looking away now, which gave Steve a vague idea of what she was about to ask…. "Er, can I work on the car?" she asked anxiously, which surprised Steve. He'd been nearly positive she'd been about to ask something else….

"Uh, yeah," he agreed, though he was shaking his head. "Sure you can. Just don't touch anything…important."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter ten.

Please R&R.

I do not own _The Outsiders. _:]

-

"God_damn _it, Friday," Steve said resentfully, massaging his sore chest tenderly. Friday being, well, _Friday_, had grown bored of fussing over the insides of her car and subtly moved on to the windshield wipers. She removed one without Steve's knowing, and took it upon herself to fiddle with it. Somehow, though, it had been thrown from her hand and rammed smack into the borderline of Steve's chest and stomach. And it didn't tickle, either.

"Heh…. Sorry, Steve…" Friday replied regretfully. She backed away from him carefully, knowing fully well how temperamental he could be.

Steve sighed in irritation and waved his hand at her, shooing her out of the garage.

"Leave. Now."

"But—"

"I said _leave_."

"All right, all right. Don't get so fussy, car boy," Friday grumbled, picking the windshield wiper up from the cemented floor. She placed it on the counter, resting it side-by-side with Steve's wrench and other instruments she could hardly recognize, then added in a chirpy sort of monologue, "See you tomorrow!"

She skipped her way to the outside of the garage, and Steve kept his eyes on her through the window until she had vanished around the corner of the sidewalk. Once she was gone, he mostly wished that Soda was there. His best friend spiced up the workplace. Especially since they'd made up, which Steve naturally assumed they'd done because of the hours of discussion he'd had with Soda the previous night.

In order to relieve himself from his mind—mostly thoughts of Soda, his mysterious feelings for Friday, and his possible enlistment in Nam—Steve inserted all of his effort into the correcting of the car. He got pretty darn far with it too, but sometime during the day the haunting voice of a familiar past girlfriend echoed a simple "Hello, Steve" from behind him, and he turned.

"Evie…?"

"Hey…" Evie said sweetly. She was standing in the doorframe of the garage. Short skirt, sleeveless shirt. Evie had gotten a hell of a lot scantier since she and Steve had broken up.

"What d'you want?"

"Need my tank filled," Evie responded smoothly, gesturing outside the garage. Steve dropped the wrench that was currently residing in his fist and followed her to her car, filling it just as she wished.

As Steve was clutching the handle of the gas pump, watching as the tank filled steadily, he noticed Evie swing her hips and step behind him. She smiled and placed a hand stealthily on his shoulder and fingered the collar of his shirt in an alluring sort of manner. Steve shifted his body weight a little bit, pulling away from Evie, but she mimicked his movements exactly and returned her hand to his collar. Finally, fed up of Evie and noticing that the gas tank was full, Steve glared at her and dropped the pump.

"What the hell do you think you're _doing_?" he snarled at his ex, taking away her hand.

"I heard about your fight with Lisa," Evie said, unfazed by Steve's hostility.

"Yeah. What about it?"

"Nothing. I'm just sayin' that I heard about it…" Evie mumbled, bringing her body uncomfortably close to the greaser boy. He shoved her away forcibly, and she flinched, as if shocked by his response.

"Quit it," Steve snapped. "We're over, remember? Done. _Broken up_. Ain't you got a _new_ boyfriend, anyway?"

Evie did not answer this question, but instead smirked attractively and brought her hand to Steve's thigh, rather than the usual collar of his shirt. He moved it away, and, again, she flinched as though surprised.

"You should leave," Steve hissed.

"But I don't wanna…"

"I don't give a fuck. Leave." He felt like he was growling at Friday all over again, although this time the girl he was scolding he actually _wanted _to get lost.

"Aw, come on, Steve. Dontcha miss me?" Evie purred, inclining the side of her body against the bumper of her car and grinning. It was a grin that was pouring Evie's well-known charm.

"No." Steve puffed a weighty breath and shook his head. "Get _lost_, Evie."

"C'mon, Steve—" Her fingers were handling his thigh again.

"Evie, I swear if you don't get lost, I'll punch you. I don't even care if you're a broad. Just get outta here," Steve hissed. He was nearly shouting now.

Evie dropped her hand to side and stared at her ex-boyfriend. Her eyes were wide with dejection.

"Fine…" she agreed grudgingly, and she entered her car and drove off. Once she had disappeared from visible sight, Steve pounded his forehead against the gas pump in exasperation. Stupid Evie.

-

Work ended in a tedious few hours. Steve wanted to go to Soda's place—his mind was urging him to head straight there—but instead, he chose to go home. Once he arrived, he hiked up to his bedroom and sat down on his bed, twisting the comforter between his thumb and forefinger. For nearly half an hour, he only sat there. Then he decided to do something productive and grabbed a half-torn piece of paper and a pen off the nightstand. He titled the sheet _Pros and Cons: Nam_.

He started out his comparison with the cons. They were mostly obvious. Danger. Risking his life. Taking lives if needed. Being away from his family and friends (excluding Soda). And it wasn't even assured he'd be stationed in the same place as Soda. They could be in different countries. Steve was almost positive they'd have no control over that.

The pros were harder to list. One was definitely being with Soda, not having to sit back while he fought his ass off. Another was being away from Evie. But as Steve scribbled down his ex-girlfriend's name, something else burrowed itself into his mind, and it wasn't a pro, either. He added the con in capital letters, and then realized his paper resembled something he'd once drawn out during his school days.

_**Pros and Cons: Nam.**_

_**Pros:** being with Soda, no Evie._

_**Cons:** d__anger, r__isking my life, k__illing, n__o family and friends, s__tationed with Soda…?, __NO FRIDAY._

Yeah. That last one was definitely a con.

-

AN: I thought I'd apologize to any Evie fans, just in case anyone's offended by her characterization in this. Actually, _I'm _an Evie fan. Stevie/Evie. Haha. Cheesy, I know. But anyway...usually, I wouldn't picture her like an obnoxiously trampy sort of girl. I quite like her. =] But in this story, this is how she is. And I doubt she's going to change, unless the ending leads to that. And to close this author's note, I'd like to say thank you for reading and please review if possible. (:


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter eleven; thank you to all the reviews I've gotten so far, and kindly keep them coming. :]

I do not own _The Outsiders_. Only Lisa and Friday are of my creation.

-

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

"Mmmph…" Steve sat up warily and stared at the clock, then shuddered and tumbled out of his bed. He needed to be at work in fifteen minutes—why hadn't his alarm clock gone off sooner!? Hurriedly, the greaser rushed around, freshening himself up while changing his clothing at the same time. It paid to be a multi-tasker.

In the end, he was able to make it to work, but with only a minute to spare. The manager would've had his head if he'd been just a millisecond late—Steve felt like that guy had it out for him. He _probably_ didn't, though….

Steve entered the convenience store. There was no one around waiting for their car to be serviced, so he figured he'd hang around there for a while. To his surprise, when he entered the area, Friday was waiting for him at the counter. She had a Coke in her hand, and she was sipping it timidly. Soda wasn't anywhere to be seen…again. Steve assumed that their plans to meet up after work were still solid, though—and that his friend would most likely return to work on Monday. Maybe he wanted to start off again with a new week. He could use the weekend as time to smooth some of the painful creases in the drafting situation out.

"Took you long enough," Friday commented tiredly.

"Jesus Christ—what time did you get here, kid? You look like you've been run over by somethin'…." He slithered behind the counter, staring at both the pockets beneath her eyes and the Coke bottle in her hand.

"Uhh, just a little bit ago. But I didn't sleep well last night."

"How come?"

"I'm somethin' of an insomniac…" Friday said admittedly, tossing the empty Coke bottle into the trashcan.

Steve leaned over and fished the bottle from the wastebasket. He tapped it against the counter, then waved it expectantly at Friday.

"Did you plan on _payin'_ for this?"

Friday only stared.

"What…? Oh! I got it from home," she explained. To most people, Steve would've been suspicious of this, but he found himself believing her claim and disposed of the bottle for a second time.

"How's my car?" Friday asked suddenly, flitting over to join Steve behind the counter. He nudged at her, rejecting her presence.

"I didn't know you worked here," he said sarcastically, referring to her entrance to personnel territory.

"I might as well…" Friday mumbled. "I'm here everyday, ain't I?"

Steve had no remark, so he nodded. "Guess so. And your car's…comin' along nicely. I got some done yesterday. But then Evie…" his muttering continued inaudibly, but Friday had heard enough to become curious.

"Evie? Who's that?"

"My ex," Steve answered. "She stopped by yesterday after I kicked you out," he continued, nearing the exit of the convenience store as some tuff-looking car pulled in for gasoline.

Friday trailed after him, just as expected.

"What'd she do?"

"Besides sexually harass me? Nothin'."

Friday's eyes had expanded.

"She…_whaaat_?"

"It ain't as bad as it sounds," Steve answered, gripping the gas pump and filling the car. "She just wanted me back, that's all. I said no, though." Steve stifled a grin as he noticed the ends of Friday's mouth twitch into a smirk.

"Was she mad?"

"I think so."

The owner of the car thanked and paid Steve as he completed his work. As soon as the car had driven off, Steve began his trudge back to the convenience store, but Friday clutched his elbow to stop him.

"Guess what?"

Steve shook loose her grip.

"Yeah?"

"It's my birthday today." Friday was smiling, and so cutely that Steve couldn't help but to have his answer come off too cheerful-sounding.

"Happy sixteenth!" So her birthday was the twentieth of January? Steve reminded himself mentally to remember that. Girls seemed to hate it when people, male or female, forgot about their birthdays. He had a decent excuse this time, though. Unknowingness wasn't something that could be helped.

"Yeah." Friday giggled her usual girlish chuckle and skipped after him as he reentered the convenience store. "So…uh…you know, you should get me a present," she added. She was only teasing, but Steve took it seriously.

"What d'you…want?" Actually, he had a good idea of what she'd like, but he wanted _her _to be the one to offer it.

Friday seemed shocked by his questioning.

"Wha…t? I was just joking."

"You were? Oh well, I guess if you don't want anything…" His voice shadowed into quiet, and Friday was nearly hopping up and down.

"Hey! No, I want somethin'. Um…maybe you could give me…" Her eyes danced distantly to the front counter. "I dunno. A soda…?"

Steve gave a slight moan of irritation, but so quietly that Friday couldn't have possibly noticed. He was beginning to realize that if they had any chance of going out, _he _was going to have to ask. Friday was too timid—in that sense—to comment on the topic herself.

"I've got an idea," Steve announced, which grasped Friday's jittery attention span.

"Yeah…?" Her face was alit with a hopeful little grin.

"Well, not tonight, 'cause I'm meetin' up with Soda after work…but _next _Friday…maybe you'd like to…" He hesitated, savoring the tension in Friday's expression, "go to a…movie…?" he concluded finally.

"Like uh…like uh…" Friday bit her tongue and swallowed back the lump in her throat, "a date…?"

Steve grinned at her reaction, and responded with a slow, "Yeah. You could call it that."

"R-really?! I-I mean—yeah, I'd lik—_love_—to go. Definitely. Yeah. Uhh, so, Friday…? What time?"

"Seven-ish. That's when the first movie starts." Friday had a look of perplexity on her face, so Steve clarified. "Nightly Double. Ain't you ever been to the drive-in?"

"Oh, no. I haven't. That'll be…great." She smiled, but somewhat nervously now. In all the films Friday had watched, the drive-in had been a place mainly for…kissing. Maybe that was just in the movies, but it still made her feel anxious. She'd only kissed one other guy, and at the age of _thirteen_—which felt like a millennium ago. Was there even a secluded possibility that Steve would _want _to kiss her, or was he just being nice about this whole "date" situation…? "Yeah. Great…uh, listen, I'm gonna head home. S-see you…Monday morning?"

"Yeah. See you."

Friday left without another word, though she was biting her nails as she exited.

Steve smiled to himself and swabbed at the counter with a dish towel. It had some Coke splattered on to it—probably from Friday. While he wiped the liquid off, though, he couldn't help but to be somewhat…afraid. Not because of the mess or because of anything obvious, but because he had an aching feeling he was as restless about his and Friday's date the next week as she was. That meant that the "No Friday" con of possibly going to Vietnam was just getting more and more potent.


	12. Chapter 12

Dumped; Chapter twelve. Read and review. (:

Disclaimer: The usual. My ownership over _The Outsiders _is … zero. :/

---

It was after work, and, just as Steve had planned, he headed directly to Soda's house. He didn't knock on the door, seeing as there was no need to. He found Soda in the living room, slumped up against the cushions of his couch and watching the television with a distant sort of glare. Steve plopped down beside him and stared ahead at the T.V.

"What're you watchin'?"

Soda grumbled a quiet "Nothin'", which made Steve grimace.

"So you weren't at work today. How come?"

"Figured I'd come back on Monday instead." Soda repositioned himself on the sofa so that he was no longer slouching down. "How _was _work?"

"Mmm…I met'a girl. Well, I've kinda known her for a little while. You met Friday?" _Had _Soda been personally introduced to Friday yet? It was unlikely. Hell, he hadn't even met Lisa during her and Steve's short-lived romantic encounter.

"I don't think so. What kinda name is _Friday_? And what happened to Lisa?"

"Her real name ain't Friday. It's Jean. But she wanted her initials to spell Fri or somethin' crazy like that. And Lisa was cheatin' on me, Soda." Steve gritted his teeth at the reminisce of the memory. "We were only dating for a few days and she was _already_ cheatin' on me."

Soda laughed. It wasn't an amused laugh—more of a strained, humorless kind of chuckle. Sort of like the noise someone would make if a joke was made about a person who had passed away recently. Very much … bitter.

"Sorry 'bout that, buddy. Well, at least you got yourself a new girl." Soda was smiling now, and it was sincere. "Am I allowed to meet _her_? Or are we still … " Soda's voiced shadowed away, which caused Steve to chew uncertainly on his lower lip. He mulled over it for an instant, and recalled what Friday had said that night after he'd caught Lisa lip-locking with a greaser boy who _wasn't _him. She said had that he was better-looking than Soda, which had given him a twisted sense of pride. His and Soda's friendship wasn't supposed to be a constant battle over whose looks were the greatest, although Soda was the obvious victor, but it had still managed to make him feel pretty good.

"Uh, yeah, you can meet her. I've gotta date with her next Friday. Wanna double?"

Soda sighed disappointedly and shook his head. "Can't. I'm gonna work overtime all next week to make up for the two days I missed. Besides, Darry needs extra help with the bills. And especially since I'm goin' off to war soon…." Steve looked away from his friend. He didn't want to be reminded that Soda was going to be deported off to Vietnam in just two months' time, nor of the internal battle that he himself was having.

"Speakin' of Nam…" Steve was the one to disrupt the stillness of the room. He glanced to Soda with weak anticipation, but Soda only shied away from him.

"Don't say it, Steve."

Steve obeyed. Not because he felt obliged to, but because talking about his possible enlistment in Vietnam wasn't a subject he liked to venture towards. Besides, the topic could still be preserved until a later occasion.

"So, buddy," Steve stood up from the couch, "you wanna meet Friday _now_? I know where she lives, and it's not like we've got nothing better to do."

Soda seemed to mimic Steve's enthusiasm, despite the Vietnam predicament.

"Yeah." He also left the perimeter of the sofa, exiting his home as Steve did. If Steve's memory served him accurately, Friday's house was approximately fifteen minutes' worth of time from Soda's. Though she lived in a nicer neighborhood than the Curtis's, being a middle-classer and not what Steve would refer to as either a soc _or _a greaser, the walk was still scarcely a hike, meaning not at all too far from his best friend's.

Conversation was exchanged as Steve and Soda trekked their way towards Friday's home. Soda pursued sideways beside Steve, impersonating his movements and allowing him to lead the way ahead. Steve did so easily, bearing in mind some of the landmarks he'd passed last time he had unintentionally stumbled upon Friday's house, and was able to relocate the home.

When he reached Friday's residence, he halted at the steps of the porch and gestured towards the front door. Soda inspected it briefly before nodding and beaming that familiar "Soda" grin.

"So you got yourself a middle-classer this time, huh, Steve? Who knew a greasy guy like you could manage?"

"Aw, shut up." Steve answered Soda's grin with one of his own and elbowed him in the shoulder before jogging his way onto Friday's porch. Soda came after him, ceasing himself when they reached the entrance. Steve almost entered without being welcomed, just because he was naturally accustomed to doing that at Soda's house, but he realized at the last moment that he'd probably be assaulted by Friday's older brother if he did that, so he backed up and tapped impatiently on the wooden panel.

And he waited. For nearly a whole minute, absolutely nothing stirred within the house. Then Steve noticed the curtain in the window ripple slightly, and someone shouted from inside: "Friday, I think that's for you! Is that that guy you've been all worked up over?" The voice was guttural, as though the person speaking had had the life choked out of him one too many times.

"Steve's out there?" Friday's voice wasn't at its usual shrill state. It sounded … pained, and somewhat brooding. This made Steve curious as to why.

"Yeah. Steve, I think. And some other guy. You wanna talk to them?"

"N-no." Stuttering. Why on earth was Friday stuttering? "Tell him I'm sick."

"Didn't you just see him earlier?"

"I don't care! Just go ahead and tell him I'm sick!"

"All right, all right…" Steve's ears recognized the noise of softly squeaking floorboards. The front door swung open, revealing what had to be Friday's brother. His appearance matched hers exactly, just in masculine form. The mousy brown hair, the eyes, wide like a cow's and about as chocolaty as a candy bar. He was even kind of short for a guy, which related to how petite Friday was.

"Uh, you here for Friday?" her brother asked. Steve knew his name, Randal, being that it was identical to his own surname, though it was spelt differently.

"Yeah." Steve and Soda answered jointly.

"Well, she's … sick." Randal cast a glare behind his shoulder, which gave Steve a convinced feeling that Friday couldn't be standing all too far from the door.

"Well, what's wrong with her?" Steve demanded. His words were heated, but only because he was actually _anxious _for Soda to be introduced to the girl he had planned a date with.

Randal's eyes narrowed. He didn't seem to be favoring Steve's tone very much.

"She's got a fever. She'll talk to you later." Randal fastened the door shut without further explanation. Steve thought he even heard the hushed click of a lock as he left the front porch, Soda stalking beside him with a strictly catatonic look.

"What d'you think that was all about?" Soda questioned.

"I dunno." Steve was walking backwards, unable to keep his eyes from being glued to Friday's house. Why _hadn't_ she allowed him to enter, and why had her voice been so … off-key?

-

AN: Before anyone takes a guess, no, Friday was _not _jumped by the Socs and is afraid to come out of her house now. I figured people would assume that, just because it happens so often in stories that involve female OC's. But, in this particular scenario, that's not the case.

Please review. (:


	13. Chapter 13

Hello. (: I know, it's been quite a while since my last update. I apologize for that. I have a mountainous pile of excuses I could give, though none of them are very good. So I'll just say sorry, and please enjoy the chapter. :]

Disclaimer; I do not own _The Outsiders_.

---

Steve and Soda spent the rest of the night in each other's presence. They didn't separate until later that evening, when Soda offered that Steve spend the night. Steve declined, though, stating that had something else to do the following morning. But that was a lie. Secretly, he was still just curious towards what had happened with Friday, but he didn't want to inform Soda that he was going to act as a stalker and amble back over to her residence.

The sun was situating slowly beneath the horizon as Steve exited Soda's home. By the time he had arrived at Friday's, it had disappeared completely. Nighttime settled in to replace it, which caused Steve to be expectant of Friday being inside her home. To his surprise, however, she was seated in a chair on her porch, rocking back and forth gently with what looked like a bundle of ice pressed against her cheek. Steve came closer towards the front steps and caught Friday's eye. She jumped up quickly, and then looked to him with the tiniest trace of a glare.

"What're you doing here…?" she demanded, clutching the package of frost tighter to her cheek. Steve inspected her face, but was unable to find a disruption in its texture until he invited himself fully onto the porch.

"Don't sound too excited to see me," he remarked sarcastically, still staring towards her cheek. Friday stepped backward, camouflaging herself beneath the shadows of the porch.

"Quit _staring_."

Steve smiled, only because he couldn't help it. He'd never seen Friday _irritated _before.

"You look _real_ sick," he commented, "air-quoting" the word _sick_.

"Yeah, I _am_ real sick."

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and smirked, tapping his foot against the porch.

"And what're ya sick _with_?"

"Mmm … chicken pox. But a real special kind that involves … ice packs."

"Come on, Friday," persisted Steve, and he smiled charmingly enough for a greaser that Friday broke.

"Fine. Take a look…" she muttered, removing the ice from her cheek. Steve squinted at whatever was there, which revealed itself to be five long scratch marks broadened across her face. The ice seemed to have decreased a significant amount of the swelling, however.

"Lord," said Steve, taking a step nearer. "What the hell happened?"

"Yer wonderful ex's, that's what," said Friday miserably.

"Ex's? Evie?"

"Evie _and _Lisa," corrected Friday, bringing the ice pack close to her cheek once again.

"They—what?—_attacked _you?" demanded Steve, mimicking Friday as she took a seat on the steps of her porch.

"Yeah. On my way back from the DX. They told me that I'd better stay away from you—_or else_," Friday explained, noticeably lowering her tone of voice when she spoke the words "or else".

"What the hell?" growled Steve. "Wait, lemme get this straight—_that's _why ya wouldn't come out earlier?"

"Er, yeah," said Friday embarrassedly. "But you showed up just a few minutes after they attacked me. So…I guess I was bein' paranoid…thinkin' that maybe they'd still be near my house…." She bit her lip ashamedly and faced away from Steve, her cheeks raging a scarlet color that could be seen even in the darkness of the porch.

"Aw, c'mon, Friday," said Steve, "ya can't be intimidated by _those _stupid broads."

"Yeah, well," said Friday, suddenly defensive, "I'd rather not get another five scratches down my face, thanks. Lisa's got damn sharp nails…"

"I don't get it. Why did _Lisa _want—hold on a sec, did you just say _damn_?" said Steve, genuinely surprised by the appearance of the cuss word.

"Yeah, I guess I did," Friday admitted quietly, staring fixedly at the foot of her porch as though she hadn't even realized she'd said the "d" word. "Ugh—see that? They made me curse."

"Yeah," Steve snorted, "_they _made you curse."

"Steve—"

"So, are we still goin' out on Friday or not?" interrupted Steve, arching each of his eyebrows expectantly. "I could talk to Evie and Lisa the next time either of them shows up at the DX, if ya want."

Friday looked to Steve appreciatively and smiled. "Yeah. We're still on for Friday. And sorry I didn't get to meet Soda."

"No problem. I'm gonna try and talk him into doubling next Friday, though he already said no. You wouldn't mind if we doubled, would ya?" questioned Steve, and Friday responded to this with a simple shrug of her shoulders.

"Sure. That'll be fun. I really do wanna meet Soda," she said, slowly inching her way towards the front door. "So, I'll uh, see ya Monday?"

"Yeah, I guess. Hey, that reminds me, what about school?"

"What about it?" retorted Friday.

"Yer never _there_."

"Oh," Friday said, her forehead perking. "That's 'cause I'm homeschooled. My lessons are all at night. My mom teaches me herself, but she's gotta work during the morning."

"Oh," answered Steve, unable to produce a better remark. Although secretly he was thinking: _There ain't nothing normal about this chick, is there? _as she bid him a final goodbye and headed inside.

Somehow, though, Steve had become pleasantly acquainted with the idea of anti-normality. He had come to like it better than familiarity, even.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Outsiders_.

Again, I apologize for the length of time it took me to post. However, please enjoy this update. :]

---

The five days that followed Friday's "incident" with Lisa and Evie were mostly eventless. Monday morning, Friday was located at the DX, which seemed to have become some kind of tradition. She met Soda very briefly due to his busyness, but she hadn't had a decent conversation with him at all. Since the handsome greaser arrived back at the gas station, there were many more customers than there had originally been with only Steve. Steve was a bit insulted by this, but he tolerated it because Friday was usually there, and it would've been rude to act that way—considering they had a date coming up soon.

Thursday afternoon was when, not just one of Steve's ex's sauntered into the DX, but both. Though they entered together, their expressions were entirely different. Evie was as seductive as usual, but held some kind of guilt in her appearance. Lisa, on the other hand, was looking smug but very indifferent toward whatever it was Evie was troubled by.

They had brought along Lisa's car to the DX to have its tank filled. Despite their expressions, they seemed to have become something of best friends since they'd teamed up against Friday.

"Hey, greaser boy!" called Lisa smugly to Steve, and Evie bit down on her lip in response to that. She muttered some inaudible words to Lisa, but Lisa simply shooed away whatever she'd spoken. "Yeah, Steve, c'mere. I need my car filled!"

Steve cursed beneath his breath and glanced instantly to Friday, who had been here all morning and appeared terrified by the arrival of Steve's ex's. Steve noticed this and murmured, "C'mon, Friday, I'll talk to 'em," while rolling his eyes and grinning weakly. In response to his easiness, Friday relaxed a little and returned his smile.

"_Greaser boy!_" cried Lisa, now noticeably impatient. Steve almost hoped that Soda would fill Lisa's car rather than himself, but what other opportunity would he have to talk to her and Evie? Besides, Soda was already occupied with someone in the convenience store.

"Yeah, I'm comin', Lisa," snapped Steve, and he trudged over to the two girls, who were looking toward him expectantly. Friday trailed slowly behind him, as though she wanted to view whatever Steve was going to say while also hiding from the girls. As soon as she and Steve reached them, Friday's fingers carefully touched the scratch marks written down her cheek.

"Oh, not _you_," hissed Lisa, noticing Friday instantly. "I thought Evie and me told ya to stay away from Steve."  
Evie's eyes looked briefly to the cuts that her friends' nails had created on Friday's cheek, but spoke nothing.

"Evie, _say _something. Gosh, you've been quiet since we _got _here," said Lisa bitterly.

Evie sighed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Before she spoke, she inhaled heavily, "Yeah, Friday, what the hell _are _ya doin' here?"

"Shut up," snapped Steve, as Friday's face reddened behind him. "Dammit, how _dare _ya two gang up on—what the hell were you—?—if you—" Steve cut himself off, for his anger was beginning to get the best of his speech. "Just—if you ever, _ever _gang up on Friday again, I swear—"

"_What_? You gonna hurt us, Steve?" asked Lisa scornfully, fluttering her long eyelashes in an obviously sarcastic manner.

"What the _hell_, Lisa?" hissed Steve. "Remember: _you _cheated on _me_, why're you—?"

"Are you gonna fill my car or not?" interrupted Lisa, her cheeks suddenly tinted pink.

Instead of advance toward Lisa's car, Steve kind of shoved her. Not as hard as he would have a guy, but hard enough where both Lisa and Evie were stunned.

"You stupid greaser—"

"C'mon, Lisa," said a low voice from beside Lisa, and Steve was shocked to notice that it was Evie who had spoken. "He didn't shove you real hard. And _I'm _a greaser girl, so—"

"Evie, shut up," intervened Lisa, who looked furious.

"What? No, I_ won't_—"

"That's _it_," hissed Lisa, opening the passengers door of her car, "Evie, wait in the car. And Steve—" she turned to face the greaser—"_fill the tank_."

Steve gritted his teeth and snarled, "No."

"What d'you mean, _no_?" demanded Lisa, arching her eyebrows. "It's your _job_, greaser boy."

"I don't care. _Leave_," snapped Steve, and Lisa recognized his acidic tone and entered her car.

"Fine, but _don't _think I'm just gonna forget this whole incident…" she said threateningly, and said nothing more—or had nothing more to say—as she hurried to drive away from the DX. The instant Lisa's car skidded around the corner and vanished, Friday faced Steve.

"You can get fired for, uh, 'refusing a customer'," she said warningly, though she was smiling.

Steve grinned and reentered the DX, where Soda was serving customers from behind the countertop. "I know," he said, noticing the time the clock on the wall read. "Hey, it's almost four; you gotta go, dont'cha?"

"Yeah, um, I guess so," mumbled Friday, rubbing the back of her neck and looking like she wanted nothing more but to stay. "Oh, and, um, I'm not gonna be here tomorrow mornin'. So I'll see ya at the, er, movies…." The corners of Friday's mouth lifted, and she caught a glimpse of Soda from the very corner of her pupil. "Is Soda gonna double or…?"

"Yeah, Soda, you gonna double?" said Steve, smiling teasingly toward his best friend. Soda sighed, though he was grinning as well, and muttered, "Steve, I gotta make up my work…"  
Steve's eyes swayed in the direction of Soda and rolled in exasperation. "Don't worry," he said softly, "he'll be there."


	15. Chapter 15

Please review.(:

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Outsiders._

---

That night, Steve's sleep was a string of nightmares, the most potent involving the subject of Vietnam, which he had purposely been avoiding.

The first dream involved Soda and himself, though they weren't laughing and joking around as they usually did. Instead, they stared at each other from across a pasture that was dressed in mounds of bloodied grass and dirt. Soda nodded, and Steve, who was confused by the gesture, simply followed his lead as he charged toward a soldier on the other end of the battlefield. The solider, who was clearly Vietnamese, aimed his pistol directly at Soda and tapped the trigger without hesitation. The shell bulleted easily toward the greaser, and he was shot dead.

That dream had caused Steve the jerk awake in the midst of the night and fall asleep again only after half an hour of personally whispering soothing things to himself. Once he had gone back to sleep, however, another dream erupted. This one was less visually dramatic, but still terrifying.

It was simply of Friday and Soda, a boundary line written between their feet in an empty chasm. Absolutely nothing surrounded them except what seemed to be a blurry sort of whiteness. Steve gazed around the abyss slowly, confusedly, before realizing that he stood directly atop the borderline that separated his two friends. Soda murmured a couple of words, though they were inaudible. Steve asked that he repeat whatever he'd spoken, although he was never able to actually _hear _what the dream version of Soda had wanted him to know, because—_again_—he jolted awake.

The second time he woke, it was five-thirty exactly. Steve decided it wasn't worth it to risk obtaining any more rest, so he dressed slowly and arrived at work much earlier than he would usually have.

---

Throughout the entire work day, Soda seemed to sense that something was wrong, so rather than ask him seriously, he joked, "What's the matter, Steve? Worryin' about yer date?" He laughed nervously when Steve did not grin, and then added, "C'mon, what's the problem?" This time, he was being sincere.

"Just tired," yawned Steve, swabbing the countertop of the convenience store with a rag, "had some nightmares last night…."

"'Bout what?" asked Soda concernedly.

"Nothin'," retorted Steve. "But are you gonna double tonight or not? How about that cute blonde over there?" he added, lowering his voice and pointing to the corner of the store, where a pretty seventeen-year-old stood with a bottle of Coke. "She definitely likes ya."

Soda rubbed the top of his hair, as though he was seriously considering the offer, but then shook his head undecidedly, "I dunno. I was supposed'ta work late tonight…."

"Come _on_, Soda," said Steve hopefully. "Friday wants to get to know you. She thinks you're real nice, but she hasn't really talked to ya," he continued, smiling briefly. "So c'mon. Ask that girl out," he concluding, gesturing once again to the girl in the corner. Soda sighed, which Steve recognized as his sigh of surrender, and smiled as he trudged over to the blonde. The girl was quick to accept his proposal to double with a friend of his, and the date had been decided.

---

The evening came a lot more quickly than Steve had thought it would, which was pleasant. He prepped himself briefly, though not very much. He wasn't expecting anything extravagant from Friday—she just wasn't the type of girl who would dress up, so he cleaned himself up a bit but stayed casual.

Soda's attire was also as casual as Steve's, though he'd borrowed a pair of nicer pants from Darry, rather than some torn jeans and what not. The blonde, whose name Steve had discovered was Anna, met up with them at the Nightly Double before Friday had even arrived. Steve kept his hands in his pockets as he paced back and forth amongst the concession stand, where Soda and Anna seemed to be getting along quite well as they ordered popcorn and Coke.

"Friday here yet?" asked Soda constantly, and Steve shook his head almost every time. Finally, Soda added, "Hey, come out to the car when she shows up," and disappeared outside with Anna giggling and clinging to his shoulder.

Just as it seemed that Friday had stood Steve up, or had become preoccupied with a different matter, she entered the lobby and gazed around anxiously. Steve immediately realized what the hell had taken her so long.

She was wearing the prettiest dress Steve had ever seen. It wasn't scanty, like Evie's were likely to be, and it didn't cover _everything _up, much like Lisa's outfits. Instead, it was a charming red color and seemed to fit her flawlessly, even for someone who possessed a frame as tiny as hers.

Also, she was wearing makeup. _Makeup_. That was something Steve would've never imagined _Friday _to even consider.

"Oh, uh, hey," said Friday anxiously, rushing toward the awestruck greaser. "So…what d'you think?" she added, craving his approval.

Steve whistled softly. "You look real good," he said truthfully, and Friday blushed.

"Thanks. Uh, you, too," she answered, giggling a bit too shrilly. Steve glanced down at what he'd chosen to wear, and suddenly felt self-conscious of that fact that he hadn't chosen something more … formal.

There was a moment of silence that followed the brief conversation, and Friday motioned toward the exit doors.

"Um, let's go," said suggested, and Steve nodded vigorously and led her to his car, where Soda and Anna were already waiting. They were placed in the front, so Steve and Friday had no choice but to accommodate the back seats.

"Hi," whispered Friday perkily, when she noticed Anna and Soda placed ahead of them. "I'm Friday." She was mostly referring to Anna when she stuck her hand out, but Soda shook it anyway.

"Yeah, she finally decided to show up," remarked Steve, and Soda chuckled softly. Friday giggled a little, which she seemed to be doing a bit too much of that evening, and nodded slightly.

"I was kinda fixin' my … hair." She poked the bob atop her head and grinned that "Friday" grin—the one that Steve had come to favor.

"It looks good," complimented Soda, and returned to Anna, who was focusing mostly on the Western film that was currently playing.

By the time the first film ended, which Steve and Friday had managed to miss half of because of her lateness, a romance picture began. This seemed to inspire Anna, because she decided to lean over and kiss Soda. It was a gentle, innocent kind of kiss, though it altered to something heavier as the movie progressed, and caused Friday to shift uncomfortably in her seat.

The middle of the romance movie had arrived, and Steve placed his arm carefully around Friday's shoulder. Friday coughed a little, fidgeted once more, and muttered, "I've gotta use the bathroom." As soon as Steve nodded, she removed his arm and exited the car, half-sprinting to the ladies room.

While in the restroom, she corrected any hair that had fallen out of place and then simply stared into the mirror, scrutinizing the tiniest flaws of her face. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so self-conscious, and she didn't understand why she was feeling that way _now_. All she was aware of was that she was extremely nervous, though she sort of _did _want to kiss Steve. However, she was also unsure of what kind of kiss. A peck, or … well, what Anna and Soda were doing … ? She couldn't decide, because she was hardly an expert at all on the subject. She'd only kissed one other boy, and dated three or so. And never had she liked them as much as she did Steve.

Twenty minutes later, and after much self-reassurance, Friday returned to the car. Steve didn't question what had taken her so long, although he'd wanted to. He merely smiled at her as she reclaimed her seat, and she managed to retort with a grin of her own.

The romance film ended with a "fairytale ending", which made Friday cheerful, because she'd always been fond toward fairytale endings. Steve seemed unimpressed by the movie, though somehow amused. Anna and Soda broke apart as the credits rolled across the black background, and Soda turned instantly to Steve.

"You want me to drive us back?" he offered, rubbing a smudge of pink lipstick off the side of his mouth. Steve laughed aloud and nodded, but then added, "Hey, Friday, ya need a ride?"

Friday shook her head slowly, as though she didn't want to insult Steve. "No. My brother is pickin' me up."

"I'll wait with you till he gets here. Soda, start the car, will ya?" said Steve, and Soda nodded obediently as the pair left the backseat.

Friday walked quietly alongside Steve as they headed toward the front of the movie theatre, where Friday's brother would eventually pull up to. Steve, who hadn't ever known Friday _not _to be talkative, commented on it.

"Hey, you okay?"

Friday glanced at him and grinned. "I'm great. Yeah."

"You've been, uh, kinda quiet."  
Friday scratched at the skin of her neck uncomfortably. "Sorry," she replied simply. "Well, um, can I tell you somethin'?"

Steve answered instantly. "Yeah. Go ahead."  
"Well … " Friday sighed, her cheeks reddening. "I'm kinda new with the whole date thing …. I've been on dates before, but … " She shrugged, cutting her sentence short. "Yeah," she concluded finally, unsure of what else to say.

Steve laughed a little, though not to ridicule her, but because it sort of amused him that she seemed nervous. "That's … fine," he said, hesitant of his words. "Yeah. So, um, I—" Before he'd been given time to complete his statement, a car—a clunker, definitely—carted up beside the couple and honked. Friday's brother, Randal, waved from the front seat, and Friday grinned.

"I'll see ya Monday…?" she inquired unsurely, and Steve nodded and leaned forward. Friday kind of flinched, but not severely enough where it messed up what Steve was attempting to do. He kissed her—full on the mouth—and the greatest part was that it hadn't been awkward. Not even slightly. Randal's eyes widened as he witnessed the event, and he honked a second time—this time much more obnoxiously than before—and called for Friday to enter the car immediately. Friday giggled as Steve eased away from her, throwing a "look" toward her brother that caused him to honk once _again_.

"Kinda over protective, ain't he?" asked Steve quietly.

"Kinda. Yeah."

"So, see you Monday?" added Steve, altering topics suddenly.

Friday smiled. "Yeah. Monday."

-

By the way, this is _NOT_ the end of the story. x]] It's only the end of the first date. :P


	16. Chapter 16

AN: Wow, it's been a LONG time since I updated. I apologize for that. I just kinda fell out of the fan fiction craze for a while, but now I'm back, and definitely continuing this story. (: Enjoy and review.

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Outsiders_.

Steve was nervous to go to work. Never, not since his very first day a couple years ago, had he _ever _been nervous about showing up to work. But now Friday was there, _always _there, and since their kiss, he hadn't stopped thinking about her. He'd even begun thinking about her more than he did Vietnam nowadays, although that was a topic that still weighed heavily on his mind.

Steve's nervousness was so brutal, it even resulted in him being late to work. Once there, he noticed Friday in the convenience store, whispering to Soda. She looked disgruntled, and Steve realized why when he entered.

Also near the countertop stood Lisa and the DX's manager, Dave. His _boss._

"Uh, hey," said Steve as he came in. Lisa smiled at him, flirty yet somehow also _maniacal_, and nodded at Dave. Steve noticed her nails had been freshly manicured and repainted; the blood red fitted the situation nicely.

"Steve," said Dave seriously. "Lisa here—I can call you Lisa, right?—says that you refused to fill her car the other day. Thursday, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," interrupted Lisa smugly. "I asked him to fill it an' he just said he wouldn't, then told me to leave."

Steve's gut ached. Thinking back, it _had_ been pretty moronic to tell her to leave. He should've just filled her car, like his job intended him to do. But after all, he'd only been defending Friday….

Friday bit her lip. She was standing in the corner of the store now, her expression looking nervously apologetic.

"Steve, is this true?" demanded Dave. Steve met eyes with Friday, but she held their gaze for only a second before glaring at the floor.

"Yeah … it's true," admitted Steve. "But she was insultin' my gir—friend. My friend," he corrected, feeling embarrassed. Again, he looked at Friday, and although she could no longer stand to stare back, she was now smiling stupidly.

"Steve, this is your third strike, ya realize that?" said Dave seriously. Steve hands clenched, and he looked fiercely to his manager. _Third_? What did he mean, _third_?

"It's my second," he corrected boldly.

"No," said Dave angrily. "_Third_. You were caught drinkin' on the job a couple months back. You refused Lisa last Thursday. And now, _today_, you're late for work."

Oh yeah, Steve had forgotten about that. Truth be told, he _had _been drinking during work hours back sometime in November. He hadn't since then, though…

Well, he hadn't been _caught _since then, moreover.

"So, what're you gonna do?" challenged Steve. "_Fire _me?" He knew this situation didn't call for his remarks or temper, but sometimes he just couldn't help it.

"I think that'd be a good move, Steve," said Dave, with a fury-induced smirk. "Besides, you just don't attract customers like Soda does. He could run this place by his lonesome until we got another worker."

Soda's cheeks blazed fire-red, and he muttered from the back of the store, "Look, a customer…" and rushed outside, although it was clear to everyone that there were currently _no _cars at the DX.

"Fine," agreed Steve, although his mind was screaming, _Steve, you stupid greaser, you've had this job for nearly three years now! Where are you gonna get another one? _ But instead of voicing his opinion, he instead left the convenience store, as well as promptly tossed his DX cap near the ground beside one of the gas pumps.

Friday waited inside, but after a moment's consideration, raced after Steve. Friday was lighter on her feet than Soda, so Steve knew instantly from the voice of her footsteps that it was her. He stopped abruptly, and her chase after him stopped due to her slamming into his back.

"Ouch…" she muttered, rubbing her nose. Steve faced her grimly, and Friday sputtered out jumbled apologies, "Steve—I'm soso_SO_ sorry—I'll do anything to—I mean, it was all my fault an—I'm just real, _real _sorry—"

"It ain't your fault," interrupted Steve coolly. On the inside, he secretly blamed her for part of it, but he wasn't angry enough to say that—and besides, a majority of it was _his _doing.

"Steve…" said Friday, ignoring his interruption, "now you're gonna have to get another job. Gosh, I'm SO sorry…" The sentence trailed, and Friday's expression morphed into something that reminded Steve of a child who had just had their most beloved toy taken from them.

"Didn't you hear me?" said Steve, with a slight trace of irritability. "It _ain't _your fault."

"Yes it—"

"But I mean," Steve continued slyly, "if ya _really _wanna make it up to me…"

Friday noticed the slyness, and her eyebrows rose out of instinct. "I'm not likin' your tone, Steve," she said. Steve couldn't tell whether she was serious or not, so he simply laughed.

"I was _just _gonna ask to go on another date."

"Oh, well, you could've ask me that anyway…" she said brightly. Her cheeks had flushed, just as expected. "When?"

Steve smiled. His temper had smoldered beneath Friday—like she was an anti-fury drug of some sort. Though somewhere, his anger toward Dave—and partially Soda, even—was encased, and he knew he'd unleash it sometime. Probably later on, while he was by himself. But at the current time, he was mainly interested in Friday.

"How 'bout now?" he suggested. Friday was quick to agree with vigorous nodding, so Steve continued, "Um, where d'you wanna go? We could go to my house… It's around the block." Friday seemed reluctant toward the idea, and Steve quickly understood why. Although, _currently_, he didn't have anything like _that _in mind. "Or…we could go to yours?" he said unsurely.

Friday's easiness returned, but only partly. "Um, well, my brother…"

"Don't he got a job?"

"He's off today," said Friday, fidgeting where she stood. "Um, I guess we _could _go, though."

Steve chuckled, a little uneasily. Not that he was exactly _intimidated _by Friday's brother, but…

"And he ain't gonna kill me if I show up?"

"Naw," Friday assured him. "Could mutilate you, though," she joked, grabbing his arm reluctantly. Steve let her take it, and she led him in the direction of her home, though he already knew its whereabouts.

"I guess I'll take my chances," he agreed. Friday made no remark until they arrived at her house, where Randal sat on the front porch, a newspaper in his hands. He looked up, however, when Friday's shrill voice called, "Hey, Randal!" and two sets of footsteps hurried onto the porch.

"Hey, Friday," said Randal easily—although his facial expression went from nonchalant to fierce the _second _he noticed Steve. "What's he doin' here?" Steve figured he was probably still upset that he'd kissed Friday, well … _pretty much_ right in front of him. After all, he was definitely the overprotective-in-a-brotherly-way type.

"Um, he was gonna come inside. I was gonna show him my room…" said Friday. Randal's eyes were saucer-wide, and he remarked, "You think _mom _would like that?"

"Don't think mom would mind much," admitted Friday.

"But—"

"Randal," said Friday, and Steve observed a slight trace of annoyance in her voice, "remember, I'm _growin' up_." The way she'd spoken the words "growin' up" made Steve wonder if there had been a previous conversation about this kind of situation that he'd missed.

"All right…" agreed Randal apprehensively. "But I'm gonna check on you two sometime. So no— " he glared swiftly at Steve—"_funny _business."

"Thanks," muttered Friday, and she hurried to her room, still holding onto Steve's arm. Once there, she shut the door—being careful to stay quiet while doing so—and faced Steve, an anxious smile spread across her face. "Well … this is my room."

Steve gazed around. Pink. It was all _pink_. The walls were plastered with pinkpinkpink. As was the carpet, although it had dulled to a less prominent pink. Friday had a bed, too—but it resembled more of a couch than anything. And the cushions were … _pink_, of course.

"Pink," muttered Steve. It wasn't his favorite color, but he still nodded in approval. "I like it."

Friday giggled, her embarrassment apparent. "Umm…this used to be my sister's room. Older sister. She moved out, though." She hesitated. "She was real crazy about pink."

Steve snorted. "Obviously." He leaned against the wall. "What's 'er name?"

"My sister?"

"Yea."

"Rachel," Friday answered quickly. "Don't see her much now, though."

Steve wrinkled his eyebrows. "How come?"

"Got in some fight with my mom… I dunno."

There was a brief, awkward silence, which was distorted by Steve's exclaiming, "Hey, what's this?" and picking up a very small, very _blue_, not pink, notebook from the top of Friday's couch-bed.

Friday's eyes shot open, widening much further than they were meant to. "Gosh, Steve, give that back!" she shouted, bounding after him as he avoided her, attempting to read the entries.

"What's this, anyway? A _diary_?" he taunted, flipping open the first page. "January twentieth," he read aloud. "Hey, this is from jus' a couple days ago—on yer birthday—" He'd intended to read more, but something knocked the wind right out of him—which ended up being Friday, tackling him onto the couch-bed and stealing back the journal.

Steve rubbed his belly lightly as Friday rolled off him and shoved the blue book underneath her bed. She muttered something under her breath, which sounded familiar to, "Gosh, stupid diary…" and smiled at him, like nothing had just occurred.

"You're pretty damn violent for such a tiny broad," Steve commented amusedly, reaching to ring his arm around Friday's waist.

Friday giggled, a mixture of amusement and anxiety. "Ya _can't _read my journal," she said simply.

"Yea—I got _that _message loud an' clear," said Steve sarcastically, still rubbing his stomach. "So what's it say in that thing, anyway?"

"I am _not _telling you," Friday said seriously, then chuckled softly.

"C'mon," challenged Steve. He was coming closer and closer to her with every moment that passed, but Friday either hadn't noticed, or simply just didn't remark.

"Well..." Friday began. "There's … stuff in it. Stuff about … _you_," she admitted sheepishly.

"What _kind _of stuff?"

Their bodies were close together now. Friday had _finally _seemed to notice, which resulted in what seemed to be a sudden wave of edginess.

"Um…" She swallowed, roughly. Steve also saw that she was picking at her fingernails. She bit her lip hard, then finally met Steve's gaze, which was staring in the direction of her mouth. "Um…" she said again, then relented and leaned her face in close to his. Their lips connected, and Steve gave a slight squeeze to Friday's waist. Friday was stiff at first, hardly kissing back, but as seconds passed, she became more intimate—even trying to deepen it herself at one point. But before she was truly able to, her bedroom door swung open, and there stood Randal, his arms locked across his chest.

Friday and Steve disconnected instantly. Friday was panting a little—she'd kissed before, but never like _that_. Steve stood up from the couch-bed and suggested, "Um, I think I'd better get goin'. See ya soon, Friday." He hurried out of the room, his shoulders rigid as Randal's eyes followed him, but then loosened up once he'd exited the house.

Despite what had just occurred, Steve couldn't stop smiling the whole way home. But on the way there, he passed by the DX, where Soda stood filling car's tanks by his lonesome, which reminded Steve that he had been _fired_.

"_Dammit_," he muttered to himself, arriving home right on cue. On the way in, he snatched up the newspaper from the front lawn. He'd finally have some use for the dang thing: _job ads. _

Inside, Steve settled onto his bed and glared at the paper. He wasn't really reading it at all. Instead, he was fuming, mind _and _body. _How could they just _fire _me like that? _he thought furiously. He'd sacrificed three years of his life to the DX, and they'd just thrown him away, like he'd been a useless worker or something. He _hadn't _been a useless worker, not even slightly. He'd done his job damn well, if not _perfectly. _Fucking DX….

Steve dropped the paper suddenly, the corner of his eye catching a sheet peeking out from underneath his bed. He reached for it, gave a tug, and pulled it into his grasp. It was the _Pros and Cons _list he'd been working on some days ago. Steve read over it again, this time focusing specifically on two words, which were in caps:

_NO FRIDAY._

On Steve's bedside table was a pencil, and he reached for it. Next to the words "NO FRIDAY", he drew a small star.


	17. Chapter 17

Yayy, updates. ^^

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Outsiders_.

I read through this very quickly, and it was only proofread once. Sorry about any mistakes I missed.

Oh, also, I changed the summary for the story because I felt that the previous one didn't fit well. So, read that if you want, and tell me what you think of it.

Thank you(: & revieww.

Two weeks later, when February sixth rolled around, Steve planned a very special date for Friday. Sure, they'd hung out plenty, kissed countless times now, but still; Steve didn't particularly feel that he should call Friday his _girlfriend_ until he'd officially asked and she agreed. So, that's exactly what he was going to do.

In all honesty, Steve wasn't the brightest when it came to being… romantic. He planned on asking Friday to be his girlfriend just by taking her to the park, nearby the lake. It was real pretty there, and Friday didn't generally ask for much. It would be passable, wouldn't it? It wasn't like he was _proposing _to the girl or anything.

So, once Friday had finished her lessons during the evening and Steve had done his fair share of job-hunting, he went straight to Friday's house. It was dark, though not late. Only eight PM, but still, he hoped Randal wasn't around. After nearly three weeks of him and Friday going out on dates, Randal has _still _not warmed up to him. Steve figured he was just in obsessive-overprotective-brother mode, but it still annoyed him.

Thankfully, when Steve rapped his knuckles against Friday's front door, she answered.

"Oh, hey Steve," she said, looking surprised. "What're you doing here?"

"Surprise date?" he offered kindly. Friday glanced over her shoulder first, then nodded in agreement.

"My brother'll be home 'round ten, though," said Friday.

"Two hour's plenty," said Steve, helping Friday into his car. Friday sat down wordlessly, then gazed around, a bit dreamily.

"Your car's real nice," she commented.

Steve activated the engine and started down the road. "It's a real grease ball."

"Kinda like you?" teased Friday, who was opening and then closing the window relentlessly.

"Yeah, kinda like me," agreed Steve, smiling. "Don't mess around with the window. Could get stuck."

The car ride was slow and awkward; Steve could literally _feel _the tension lingering in the air. Friday wasn't speaking much, which was unusual, so Steve sensed something was the matter.

"Hey, what's goin' on, kid?" he said as he stopped his car nearby the park.

"Nothin'…" said Friday solemnly.

Steve cocked an eyebrow, unenthused with her answer. Friday took site of his expression and sighed, relenting.

"My dad came 'round today."

Steve hesitated. "Didn't know you had one," he said slowly.

"I-I don't," said Friday underneath her breath. "Dunno who he thinks he is. He stopped by and asked my Ma for money, that's it. I haven't seen him in nearly two years, but today…" She sighed, fingers on her temples. "Sorry," she added suddenly.

"Hey, it's all right. Don't be," said Steve. He reached over to Friday carefully, then brought his arm around her shoulder. "Your old man sounds as bad as mine," he offered.

"Yours?" said Friday, looking up at him.

"Yea. He used to push me around some… literally. Not so much anymore, not since I got older, but…" He shrugged and tightened his grip on Friday.

"Oh…" said Friday, who looked ashamed. If Steve had been hit as a kid, what was _she _complaining about?

It was quiet, so Steve said, "Hey Friday, mind if I ask you something?" He stopped and gazed out his windshield at the park. The lake was nearby, and it was pretty in the dark, but it probably would've been prettier if they actually _left the _car. "Why don't we get outta the car?" he added.

"Oh, um… Yea. Okay," agreed Friday, who still seemed a little bit depressed. Steve grinned and took her hand, helping her from the car. She appreciated this, and awarded him with a peck on the cheek, which made the hairs on Steve's neck bristle.

"Wait here," said Steve as they sat by the lake. He went back to his car, Friday waiting near the lake with her toes dipped in the water, and took a single rose from the trunk of his car. He thought a bouquet would've been over-the-top, and that the rose was predictable but still… _sweet_. He knew Friday would like it.

Steve went back over to her, noticed her toes in the lake, and said, "Ain't that cold?" while holding the rose behind his back.

"Yea… it's sorta soothing though," explained Friday. "Whatcha got there?" she asked, nodding toward Steve's back.

Steve sat down beside her and smiled. "Guess you've gotta wait and see. Close your eyes."

Friday did as she was told and shut her eyes, but did not try to hide her large grin. Steve took Friday's fingers and unclenched them, then closed them around the stem of the rose. He was relieved that he'd remembered to remove the thorns before he'd given it to her.

"Now open," instructed Steve.

Friday's eyes reopened. She scrutinized the rose, which was held in both her and Steve's hands, as Steve hadn't yet let go of her. Then, with a slight giggle, Friday said, "Didn't take you for the romantic type, Mister Randle."

"Guess you're just special," answered Steve, leaning forward to kiss her fingers. "Speaking of which, will you be my girlfriend, Friday?" he continued. He hadn't meant to blurt it out so randomly, but he just felt that that moment was the best of any.

Friday seemed to think so too, because she remarked teasingly, "Ain't that what I am?" With that, she titled toward Steve and pressed her mouth against his, softly.

Their smooches remained soft for a couple minutes, but then Steve deepened it and they kissed, hard. Friday allowed it, and caressed Steve's lower back as they did so. She enjoyed the taste of his lips, which was a mixture of cigarettes, booze, and some kind of sweetness that she couldn't recognize. Still, the taste was somehow pleasant.

Suddenly, Steve's mouth left Friday's, and traveled beyond her neck to her collarbone, which he nipped at. Friday was slightly uncomfortable with this, but let it be. Steve ventured further, until his mouth lingered above her breasts. Seeing nowhere else to go, he undid the first button of Friday's blouse, which caused her to jerk away from him.

"Steve… stop," murmured Friday, wriggling underneath him. Sometime during their kissing, he'd ended up on top of her.

Steve rolled off of Friday and lay beside her silently, although in his mind, the word _jackass _was being thrown around, much like a broken record. He'd nearly forgotten, Friday wasn't _that _kind of girl. Not like Evie, who, when they'd gone out, could hardly keep her hands off of Steve, even while he was driving. Now, as Friday redid the button on her blouse, Steve was ashamed.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "Just… in the moment. Ya know?"

"I understand," said Friday. She no longer seemed shaken, but instead, embarrassed. "I dunno, though. I'm new to… that. Guess I'm just not ready," she sighed.

"Yea," agreed Steve, shaking his head. He'd _just _asked Friday to be his girlfriend officially, and prior to that, they'd only been going out for about three weeks. Their relationship had just _barely_ begun. What had he been _thinking_? "I'm real sorry, Friday," he apologized.

Friday sat up and rubbed her hair, which was slightly windblown. "I said it was all right, didn't I?" she said, grinning as though nothing had occurred. Steve was relieved by her forgiveness, although the word _jackass _still bounced around his brain relentlessly. Irritated, he stood up.

"I think it's 'bout ten," he said, starting toward his car. "Better get you home."

Friday followed, and they drove home. Steve talked mostly, because Friday had begun yawning and rubbing her eyes every few minutes. Due to this, she contributed little to the conversation, and it had died by the time they reached Friday's home.

"Dang," muttered Friday, exiting the car. "Randal's truck is by the house. He's gonna wonder where I was."

"Say you were at the Dingo," suggested Steve. "You tell 'em you were at the park by your lonesome with _me_, and he'll hit the roof."

Friday snickered. "Don't worry. He likes you more than you think," she assured him, leaning forward. Steve kissed her goodnight, soft and gentleman-like.

"Night, Friday," he said happily.

"Night, Steve," she answered.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18.

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Outsiders_.

This chapter is pretty short, but very important, and I felt I ended it at the appropriate place. Most likely, I'll update soon, with a longer chapter.

Please review(:

The following evening, Steve called up Soda and invited him over. Since Steve had been fired about two weeks ago, him and Soda hadn't spoken much. Steve partially blamed Soda for him being fired, although he knew it technically wasn't his fault at all. Soda realized this, and though it was unjust, he gave his best friend the space he needed. So, when _Steve _was the one to suggest they hang out again, Soda was deeply relieved.

Soda went straight to Steve's house after being invited, knocked on the door - which was awkward, since he usually just barged in - and smiled when Steve answered. "Nice to see ya, stranger," he commented.

Steve snorted at first, but then grinned. "Don't go in. My old man's throwin' a fit. Let's go to the Dingo," he suggested.

"All right," said Soda, and they walked along the sidewalk in silence until they reached the infamous restaurant. Soda, over the two weeks him and Steve hadn't spoken, had done a great deal of thinking. Steve, some weeks ago, had offered to accompany him to Vietnam. Although it wasn't assured they would be together much, just Steve's partial presence would comfort Soda enormously.

Though Soda had refused the offer at the time, now… _now _he was considering even explicitly _asking _Steve to go with him. Soda wasn't a big reader - hell, he hardly ever cracked a book. But lately, he'd done a large amount of reading on post-war veterans, and their stories had worried him deeply. Some had had limbs blown off, suffered brain damage, been accidentally shot by their own side. But what was even scarier was the _emotional _trauma. Soda had read a story specifically about one man, who suffered from insomnia and had intense nightmares for _years _following his return from war. Also, he'd eventually turned to drugs. Soda didn't do drugs… nothing more than cigs, anyway. But - but what if… _he _was pushed so far as to become like that man? Soda didn't know if he could handle that. He hadn't had a particularly easy life, what with the death of his parents and dropping out of school. But Soda didn't know if he could deal with another event that was so traumatic. Didn't _want _to know, frankly.

Once at the Dingo, Soda and Steve sat down across each other in a booth near the door. A brunette with her hair pushed back behind her ears went over to them and took their orders. Soda was moneyless, but Steve happened to have some spare cash in his back pocket. He ordered them each a chocolate shake.

"So…" said Steve, eliminating the barrier of silence. Soda smiled one of his usual _Soda_ grins, though it faltered quickly. Steve noticed this and added, "What's goin' on?"

"You mad at me, Steve?" Soda blurted out, a bit more bluntly than he'd meant to.

Steve thought about it. "Naw… guess not. I _was _pissed, I guess. But… I just needed someone to blame for me bein' fired and all." He sighed stiffly. "I know it wasn't your fault, buddy."

Soda shrugged, wanting badly to speak what was currently on his mind. After about a minute of awkward silence, he scrounged up enough courage to do so. "So, ya know I'm goin' off to war in about a month and a half?"

Steve winced, then nodded. "I know," he said softly.

"I, uh, I was gonna ask you something about that. But it's… it's kinda big."

Steve leaned forward slightly, suddenly _very _interested. "Shoot," he offered.

Soda took a deep breath, then, without stuttering or pausing, said bluntly, "I want you to go with me, Steve. I know I said I didn't want ya to a couple weeks ago, but things changed. I don't…" He swallowed painfully, finally pausing. "I dunno if I can do it on my own," he admitted.

Once Steve had fully digested Soda's words, an ache appeared in his chest and abdomen. _Why _did Soda suddenly want him to go? And why did it have to be… _now_? A jumbled mass of questions concerned with his and Soda's relationship hurried through his brain, but the most important was unrelated to that:

_What about Friday?_

"Soda…" said Steve slowly. "Buddy… I dunno," he muttered.

Soda's heart dropped to his feet. He had expected Steve to agree to his proposal instantly, but… _I dunno_. Was the possibility that Soda would have to go to war on his own actually… _real_?

"What?" said Soda hoarsely.

Steve shrugged. "Things changed since I last offered to go, buddy." He sighed, clarifying. "Friday… She's real important to me." Steve looked at Soda, and what his expression was saying was clear: _And I'm _not _important to you? _Realizing he'd worded his explanation wrong, Steve added, "Not that you ain't, Soda. But I just… I dunno anymore."

Soda chewed on his fingernails, stricken. Slowly, he considered what he was going to say next. But his choice of words still ended up being very… for Steve, _heartbreaking. _"You're choosing Friday over me," said Soda. It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

"I… no. Soda, _no_. No." No matter how many times Steve spoke the word _no,_ it was still obvious to him that what Soda had stated was true. And for that, he hated himself.

But what caused him to hate himself even _more, _was that he felt that picking Friday over Soda was perfectly okay.

"Well…" Steve continued, when Soda said nothing. "I dunno."

Soda stood up from the booth. "It's okay, Steve," he said shakily. "It's okay…" he repeated. "I gotta go. Work tomorrow. Darry's gonna wonder where I went…" With that, he hurried to the exit, but not before he called over his shoulder, "It's okay, Steve. Really!"

But clearly, it wasn't.


	19. Chapter 19

_Chapter 19; read&review(:_

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders._

Also, thank you so much for all the reviews. ^_^

Late that night, 'round about three AM, Steve did not sleep. He'd been tossing and turning for hours now, and had finally given up on trying to get some rest. Instead, he stared at the middle of his ceiling and thought about what had occurred at the Dingo.

Soda wanted Steve to accompany him to Vietnam. Didn't Soda understand that that was a _huge _favor he was asking for? Although Steve had considered it before, he now doubted whether he could even handle _training_, let alone the literal battlefield. Also, he now cared deeply about Friday, which he hadn't a month or so ago. Things were going well with her, and frankly, Steve didn't want it messed up.

_But Soda's your best friend, _whispered a little voice in his head. Startled, Steve covered his ears with his hands. Yes, Soda was his best friend. But… but…

_But what? _urged the voice.

Steve didn't know. Soda was his best friend… had been for years now. And Friday he'd only known for about a month or so. Clearly, his and Soda's relationship was more valuable. But, not only did Steve not want to go to Vietnam because of Friday, but also, he was _scared_, although he hadn't told Soda that. Weren't fatalities high in war? Steve didn't know for sure, but he could imagine. And Soda literally _asking _Steve to come along with him was bigger than anything Soda had ever asked for before.

Eventually, Steve slipped into a quiet, troubled rest. He had no nightmares - none that he could recall, anyway - but was shaken awake near four-thirty. At first, he was startled that someone had entered his room. But he calmed down when he realized _who _it was.

"Friday?" he said hoarsely, sitting up. "How… _how _did ya get in my room?"

Friday sat on the edge of Steve's bed, her cheeks tear-stained. "Window was open," she muttered, picking at her fingernails. "I'm s-sorry. My dad… he made me leave."

Steve thought for a moment, then said quietly, "…thought your dad didn't live with you."

"He _doesn't_. Not usually," said Friday, sounding scared. "But he stayed with us tonight, and he got real angry, ya know? Mad at Randal 'cause of something, I dunno what. But Randal stormed out, so he took it out on me… told me to leave for the night. My Ma, she didn't know what to do, so… so she told me to come to your house." Friday's lower lip quivered as she stood up. "I'll leave if ya want…" she promised, starting toward the wide-open window.

"What?" Steve shook his head, feeling drowsy from sleep deprivation, as well as furious with Friday's father. "C'mere," he said, gesturing to the spot beside him. "But close the window first," he added.

Friday shut the window tightly, then wandered over to Steve's bed. She sat beside him and hugged herself, so Steve took her hand. He was seriously worried… he'd never seen Friday so upset before. She was even crying, though she kept rubbing the tears from her eyes in an attempt to not let him see.

"Ma says he's gonna be staying with us for a while…" said Friday suddenly.

Steve's anger bristled. "Ain't he _abusive_?" he snapped.

"Doesn't hit me…" muttered Friday. "But…" she bit her lip, drawing a bit of blood, "he scares me. He yells a lot. And this isn't the first time he's kicked me out."

Steve bit his lip as well, but in fury, rather than fear. "So why doesn't your mom make 'em leave?"

Friday considered this. "I reckon she's scared to kick him out," she assumed, wrapping Steve's blanket around her stomach. "He ain't ever hit _me _before… but her? I dunno."

Steve, through Friday's explanation, was both paying a decent amount of attention to her - but also, he was thinking hard. His mind had wandered back to Soda's request, and Friday's current situation just gave him another reason to not go. If her dad was going to be around for a good while, then Friday would likely need Steve's support. He couldn't abandon her to optionally sign up for Vietnam.

_But Soda is your BEST FRIEND. You gonna abandon him instead? _The tiny voice had returned, so Steve quickly shooed it away. He gave a tiny squeeze to Friday's shoulder, then laid down. Friday mimicked his lead, making herself comfortable beside him. Soon, and wordlessly, she went to sleep. Steve did, too.

Morning arrived shortly, and Steve was the first to wake. Friday was still by his side, her arms curled around her stomach and her eyes closed tightly. Steve tapped her shoulder, and she woke easily, but tiredly.

Friday gazed around a moment, at first not realizing where she was, but she recalled quickly. "Mornin'," she grumbled, pressing her face into Steve's mattress. Steve touched his girlfriend's hair lightly, then left the bed. Friday sat up after a minute, and Steve grinned at her.

"You got anything planned today?" said Steve, rummaging through his closet.

"Nah," yawned Friday, rubbing her eyes.

"Good. Me neither," said Steve. "Well… actually, I should probably go talk to Soda."

Friday rubbed her hair messily and looked at Steve. "You two doin' all right?"

"We got in a fight," said Steve grumpily. "He wants me to come to Vietnam with him," he continued slowly. "I… I said no. That's just… too much." Steve shook his head, and Friday patted his shoulder at an attempt to comfort him. "So… I'm gonna head to the DX pretty soon to talk to 'em. You can stay here and-"

"Can't I come with?" interrupted Friday, scratching the back of her neck.

"I, um…" Steve shook his head, then shrugged. "I dunno. I can't see Soda bein' real happy to see ya after our fight…"

Friday raised her eyebrows, not understanding. "I was involved?"

Steve looked into the mirror on the wall of his bedroom as he spoke. "You were part of the reason I said I wasn't gonna go," he admitted.

"Oh, gosh…" said Friday, her ears going red. "Ya know I don't wanna get between you two. If ya really want to go to Vietnam, then go… I ain't gonna stop you," she explained.

"It's not just that," said Steve slowly, twisting his shirt between his fingers. "I don't _wanna _go. Guess I'm scared," he sighed, blushing hard.

"Oh…" said Friday, leaning toward Steve to kiss him. "Still, I wanna go. I think… well, I don't want Soda to be mad at me, I guess."

Steve considered it. "All right," he agreed, finally relenting. "But you gotta get dressed, don't ya? And so do I. You can borrow my clothes… I'll get changed in the bathroom." Steve tossed Friday an undersized shirt of his, as well as a pair of pants, and vanished into the bathroom for a good few minutes. Then, he gave Friday about twenty minutes to fix up her hair and such, and they started off to the DX, which was only a short few blocks from Steve's own home.

At the DX, Soda stood outside, servicing a car with gasoline. When he noticed Steve coming toward him, Steve sensed a trace of malevolence in his expression, which surprised him. Soda didn't generally get angry, but right now, he _did _seem mad. Or disappointed. Or upset. Or, most likely, a hybrid of the three.

But then, when Soda noticed that _Friday _was also with Steve, he made a face that resembled a shriveled-up lemon and hurried into the convenience store.

Suddenly, Steve was wishing that he hadn't brought Friday along.


	20. Chapter 20

**Dumped; chapter twenty.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Outsiders**_**. **

**Sorry to all of you, I know my updating is uneven. Just, sometimes I'll really be in the mood to write, and other times it's like pulling teeth. But, I'm updating now. (: **

**Also, I noticed that it's been nearly a year since I first posted this story. And I think it's just **_**insane**_**, the way time passes so quickly. Jeez.**

**Anyway, review! :D**

**PS: Oh, and before I forget, one of my reviewers asked if I've ever read **_**Mockingjay **_**by Suzanne Collins. And yes, actually, I have(: I've read the whole **_**Hunger Games **_**series, and (I think) it's pretty awesome.**

Soda looked out the window of the convenience store, watching as Steve and Friday stood by the DX. Friday looked embarrassed, and Steve regretful. Soda tried to read the words they were speaking off their lips, but was unable to. So, he waited, nonchalantly cleaning the counter as he did so.

"Shit, I shouldn't'a brought you with," said Steve, annoyed with himself. He paced back and forth across the ledge of the sidewalk, and Friday bit her lip. "Soda looks upset." He sighed, relenting as he sat down on the curb. Friday sat beside him, her arm timidly slung around his shoulder.

"Guess I shouldn't have invited myself," she said, staring hard at the ground.

"Guess not," agreed Steve bitterly. He knew he also shouldn't have agreed, but for once was allowing Friday some of the blame.

Friday did not speak. Instead, she looked back at the convenience store, where Soda was clearly watching them. When Soda noticed her, he averted his eyes, ducking under the counter as though he'd dropped something. Friday knew better, though.

"I'm bettin' he wants you to come inside," she said finally, her words slow and considerate. "Go on."

"Ya think?" said Steve seriously. He stood up, cast a glance at the convienence store, and then began walking toward it. He called over his shoulder, "Wait out here, Friday!" before entering.

Inside, Soda was still working the counter, scrubbing furiously at a stain only _he_, it seemed, was able to see. Steve stood by the beverages and watched him, not moving closer. Then, with an air of annoyance, he said, "You mad at me or what?"

Soda looked up at him. He was either angry or upset, Steve couldn't really tell. He opened his mouth to say something, but then considered his words and stopped. Then, a moment later, he spoke, "I ain't."

"Ain't what?" asked Steve.

"Ain't mad," clarified Soda, setting down the rag and looking straight at Steve. His stare was unwavering. "Just… scared." He hesitated. "I guess."

"I'm scared too, buddy," said Steve, coming closer. "You think I want ya to go? _No_. I don't. Wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy." He sighed, glaring at the floor. He pictured Soda in a little black coffin, all limbs attached, but… dead. The mental image was terrifying, and gave him the sensation of wanting to cry. But Steve wasn't about to do that in public. Greasers didn't cry, anyway.

"Then why don't ya come with me?" said Soda, a bit desperately. He clenched both his fists, as if wanting to punch something. "You said ya would a couple weeks ago!" added Soda. "But then, you got all cozied up with _her_…" He peered out the window, where… he didn't even want to think her name… where Steve's _girlfriend _was watching them. He didn't mean to feel so much resentment toward someone, especially not Friday. Honestly, he generally liked her. But he couldn't help it. He felt like he was being cheated, like Friday was stealing Steve away from him. But, weren't best friends supposed to matter _before _girlfriends?

"_Cozied up_?" said Steve, air-quoting. "That ain't true, Soda! You're my best friend, always have been! She ain't gonna come between us."

Soda exhaled, not unclenching his fists. His face was stark red, which was unnerving. He didn't usually get angry like this, and definitely didn't mean to now. But, it just didn't seem _fair_…

"Ya did get cozied up to her," said Soda deliberately. "And it looks like she already _has _come between us, Steve." The scarlet in Soda's face eased slightly, but he was still angry. "Ya know I like Friday an' all," he continued, "but… you're pickin' Friday over me, and ya know it, too." Soda didn't know what else to say, so he stopped and glared at the floor, giving Steve a chance to digest his words.

Steve was dumbstruck. He'd known this all along, and even considered it before, but for some reason it really seemed to hit him _now_. He was clearly choosing Friday over Soda, even a stranger would've noticed that. But then Steve remembered: as much as Friday _was _influencing his choice, he also did not want to go to Vietnam on his own accord. He was scared, which he'd told himself the night before. Now, if he could just eliminate his pride for about thirty seconds and tell Soda that, maybe he'd understand better. After all, _Soda_ had already admitted multiple times that he _himself_ was scared. Why was it so hard for Steve to do the same?

"It. Ain't. Just. Friday." Each word Steve said seemed to be its own sentence, which grasped Soda's attention. "I'm scared."

"For me," muttered Soda, grumbling.

Steve swallowed. "For _me_," he clarified. "It ain't fair for you to ask me to go, Soda. I'm scared, too. I don't wanna go. I've got a life _here_." Well, sorta. He'd lost his job, but he could always find another. And aside from that, there was still Friday. "I don't… wanna… _die_." Steve had tried to avoid using that word, _die_, but hadn't known how else to be blunt.

Soda winced, not liking Steve's wording much himself. "You think I will? Ya know... die?" he croaked.

"Naw, course not," said Steve instantly. He stopped, then grinned bitterly. "Anyone who's got half a mind knows you're tougher than me." His humor was dark, but enough to make each of them chuckle a bit. Soda stepped toward him reluctantly, and they hugged. And not a half-assed one-armed hug, either. A genuine _hug_. The tension was still there, but it had eased considerably, Steve thought anyway.

When they broke apart, Soda was grinning, somewhat weakly… but more enthusiastically than Steve was. They both glanced outside the store, where Friday was smiling a grin so wide it made up for each of their feeble ones. She'd noticed their hug, and was pleased that they had appeared to have made up.

"Ya know, you should probably go talk to her," said Steve, waving at his girlfriend. "I think she's got this idea that you hate her or somethin'. Or not like, anyway."

"Me?" said Soda. He sounded surprised, but didn't look it. "I don't hate her." He shrugged. That was true, though the resentment was still there, lingering slightly. However, it had lessened... _a lot_. "Sure, I'll go talk to her. Maybe we could hang out sometime."

"Maybe just you and her," added Steve, as they walked alongside each other, exiting the store. "She doesn't know ya very well, ya know. And I think she should. Since you're my _best friend_, an' all." He emphasized the word _best friend_ severely, which caused Soda to smile a genuine grin.

They reached Friday, who looked to Soda uneasily and then apologized, saying that she hadn't meant to come between Steve and him. Soda said it didn't matter, that it was all right, and it was settled.

Steve butted in as Soda and Friday then began talking about something he wasn't really interested in. "Friday, why don't ya hang out with Soda sometime? I mean, by yourself. Ya know, so I won't _distract_ you." He winked at her, his sarcasm heavy, and Friday giggled and hit him across the shoulder.

"Sure. Sounds great," she agreed, looking to Soda.

Soda nodded also, and proposed, "What 'bout Saturday at the Dingo? We could get lunch or somethin'."

"Yeah, and your brother'll be happy you ain't hangin' out with me for one afternoon," teased Steve, smirking a bit.

"Yeah, all right," agreed Friday, casting Steve a smirk of her own. "See ya then? I should probably get home now anyway, my dad's usually out during the day…" She heaved a shuddering breath. "I should check if Ma's okay."

Soda nodded, and went back to work when he heard his boss, Dave, holler at him. Steve kissed Friday quickly and watched as she wandered down the street before going after his best friend.

However, as pleased as he was that the fight between him and Soda was over—or at least put off for now—Steve still felt burdened. He knew that the Vietnam situation was just beginning for Soda, and was worried that it wasn't quite over for him yet, either.

**Soda and Friday hanging out will probably have an entire chapter devoted to it. Or at least a good amount of a chapter. I feel that there needs to be more Soda/Friday interaction, seeing as there's already plenty of Steve/Soda and Friday/Steve interaction. **

**Also, I'm sort of self-conscious about this chapter. This one was really important. Well, all of the chapters are important for the plot, but I felt that **_**this **_**was particularly important, seeing as it covers a huge dilemma in the story. I wanted to make Steve and Soda's reactions/argument perfect, and I'm **_**pretty**_** happy with how it came out, but I'm still unsure. So, it'd be helpful if you mentioned what you thought about Steve and Soda's discussion particularly. If you think it came out right, etc. **

**Review. (: **

**PS: Oh, and just _one_ other thing. There are probably some typos in here, because I've been reading fanfiction all day and my eyes were crying by the time I finished writing this, x_X - so I proofread it very quickly, skimming it mostly. Sorry about that.  
**


	21. Chapter 21

**Dumped; chapter twenty-one**

**Woohoo, another update! (: **

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Outsiders**_**.**

**Review, review, reviewwwww. :D**

The five days prior to Saturday, the day when Friday and Soda were supposed to meet at the Dingo, Steve and Friday spent mounds, _mounds _of time together. Usually, Friday did prefer to spend _some _time at home. She liked her family, meaning her brother Randal and mother. But now that her father had invaded her life, she preferred to stay as far away from her house as possible. For Steve, that meant more time spent with him.

On February tenth, the day before Saturday, Steve and Friday had a particularly interesting day at his house. Friday had shown up, Steve had argued with his father in front of her, and then they'd stormed up to his room. Well, actually, _Steve_ had stormed up to his room, while Friday followed timidly.

Once inside, Steve sat on his bed, fuming. He was praying he wouldn't have a fit, not with Friday in the room. He didn't want to release his tension on her, it just wouldn't be right. But sometimes… sometimes… his old man was just… _intolerable. _He led Steve to do stupid, rage-filled things that he eventually regretted.

"You okay?" said Friday cautiously, noticing how Steve clutched the blanket on his bed between his fists. He exhaled, relaxing slightly, though his shoulders and hands were still tense.

"Fine. Just fine," said Steve, unclenching his teeth finally. He'd been grinding them for nearly fifteen minutes now. He said nothing else, so Friday went over and explored the shelves in his room. On the nearest tabletop she found a familiar book, _Gone with the Wind_, and skimmed through its pages.

"You read?" she asked Steve, her eyebrows arched. She'd never taken him for the type.

"Not much," admitted Steve, settling down. "That's not my book. Soda's little brother came here once with Soda, an' brought it along with him. Guess he must've left it here by mistake."

"Soda's brother?" inquired Friday, setting the book back down.

"His name's Ponyboy." Steve squinted his eyes and thought about Ponyboy. He hadn't seen him much lately, only a couple of times a month around the DX. In the past, he'd mocked Pony, referring to him as a tagalong, and Soda's shadow. But lately, mostly since Dally and Johnny had died, he'd secretly thought of him as… more mature, although he'd never tell him or Soda that.

Friday scrutinized Steve, and then shrugged. "Ponyboy? Interestin' family Soda's got."

"Yea," agreed Steve, watching as Friday sat beside him once more. They stared at each other for a couple moments, silently. The atmosphere in the room was somewhat tense, but somehow also welcoming and comfortable. Steve took Friday's hand in his and grinned at her, and Friday grinned back, though a little stupidly. Steve was the first to lean forward, and they kissed.

And from there came the interesting part, as things got a bit more… well, _physical _than usual. Not to an extreme point, but an under-the-shirt experience. Friday's _first _under-the-shirt experience. Steve had wanted to go farther, but he hadn't mentioned it. Steve's hormones were currently fused with anger, which was a dangerous combination. And Friday was just, well… not ready for _that _kind of thing, and he knew that, though it wasn't his most favorite thing in the world.

Besides, they hadn't been dating very long yet. A little bit over a month, Steve couldn't remember the exact date, because they'd officially starting dating without actually _saying _they were long ago. But, just about a week ago he'd _asked _Friday to be his girlfriend. But it was no secret they'd been a couple longer than that.

After the more-physical-than-usual session had occurred, Steve and Friday kissed very little, and instead went to a movie at the Nightly Double. They ran into a soc girl there that Steve knew of, a pretty red head called Cherry. Friday hadn't ever met her, but noticed that Steve was somewhat tense when he and Cherry had exchanged a brisk "hello." She didn't inquire to why, though.

Steve drove Friday home late that evening. Usually, they minded the time because of Randal, but lately Friday's brother had better things to do than harass her about Steve. So, for a while, they sat in front of Friday's house, just talking. Then, she kissed his cheek and opened the passengers door, exiting. Before she went inside, Steve called, "If your dad gives you any shit, come to my house, all right?"

Friday nodded from afar, and answered back, "Sure thing. And remind Soda that me an' him are supposed to hang out together tomorrow, all right?"  
Steve replied, "Sure" then nodded and began down the road, smiling.

XXX

Saturday afternoon, Friday walked herself to the Dingo. It was one of those rare days that Soda was already _off _for a change, so nothing interfered with them hanging out. But quite honestly, Friday didn't _want _to hang out with Soda. Not alone, anyway. Not that she didn't like him, because she did. He _was _Steve's best friend, after all. But ever since what had happened, she'd gotten the feeling that _Soda _wasn't exactly taking a liking to her all that much, though he was too polite to say so.

It was four PM, exactly the time Friday and Soda had agreed to meet up, and just as expected, when Friday entered the Dingo, there was Soda. He was sitting in a booth by the window, stirring a mug of water with a clear straw. Friday exhaled and went over to him, suddenly feeling an ache of discomfort.

"Hi," she said perkily. Her perkiness, in truth, was pretty artificial. She was actually feeling a little bit nauseous—Soda looked awful upset for some reason.

Soda glanced up at Friday as she sat across from him. "Hey," he answered lowly.

A greasy-looking waitress came over to the two a moment later, asking for their orders. Soda claimed he wasn't hunger, while Friday ordered a carton of fries. Then, the waitress went away, and they were left alone again.

"So… Steve was talking about your brother the other day," Friday began. She thought of what had happened in Steve's room, and blushed a little. "Ponyboy. Right?"

Soda managed a smile. "Yeah. Ponyboy."

"How old is he?"

Soda cleared his throat, gazed around for a moment, then answered, "'Bout fifteen now."  
"Could I meet him sometime?" asked Friday interestedly. Honestly, she _did _want to meet Soda's brother. She figured anyone with the name "Ponyboy" had to be pretty cool.

"Guess so," said Soda. Then he sighed, and Friday bit her lip.

"You all right?" she asked. "You're lookin' kinda upset."  
Soda gazed at the floor of the restaurant, while also picking at his nails. It was silent for a minute, but then he said, "You think it was selfish of me to ask Steve to come along to war? I dunno. I guess it just would've been a real comfort. But then you… not _you, _well…" He paused. "Steve says he's scared. But you know it's got something to do with you too, don't ya?" He sounded a little bitter, but mostly disappointed. Friday held her breath: she hadn't expected this subject to surface again. She thought it had been settled completely the other day.

Friday scratched her neck, uncomfortable. "I, er… it's not really my place. I dunno. Um… about the selfish thing." She giggled a little, but in anxiousness.

"But you _know _it's got somethin' to do with you, right?" said Soda, a little demandingly.

Friday knew, but she didn't want to say it aloud. "Wasn't this… er… settled the, um, other day?" she asked. She hadn't meant it to, but it had come out sounding a little rude.

Soda looked at her. "Yea," he answered. "It ain't just gonna _go away_, though." He waved his hand in the air, a "go-away" motion, then slumped down in the booth before standing up completely. "Ya know, I oughta be going. Darry wanted me home for dinner or somethin'."

Friday glanced quickly to the clock. _Four-twenty_, she thought. They'd only been here for about twenty minutes now, and it had already turned miserable. And aside from that, who the heck ate dinner at four?  
"Soda…" Friday began, but didn't know what else to say. She probably could've said sorry, but what good would that of done? Besides, she wasn't doing anything to _intentionally _hurt Soda and Steve's relationship. She just happened to be in the middle of things. She hadn't put herself there.

As Soda left, the greasy-looking waitress arrived with Friday's fries. Friday took them in a takeout box and left some money on the counter, telling the waitress to keep the change. Then she left herself, walking straight to Steve's house, intent on avoiding her own home for the rest of the day. Also, Steve had told her to tell him how it went with Soda, anyway. He wasn't going to be thrilled to hear that Friday was almost fully convinced his _best friend_ hated her.

Once at Steve's house, Friday entered without knocking. Steve's dad's car wasn't there, so it was unlikely he was either. Upstairs, Steve was in his room, greasing his hair back in the mirror. Friday went straight to his room, interrupting him. He looked at her, noticed that she seemed dejected, and assumed, "Don't tell me that ya have bad news."

"Depends, do ya think that your best friend hatin' me is _bad_?" she said sarcastically. Friday didn't usually get bitter like this, but she felt guilty, which was weighing her down. "D'you think I'm breaking your friendship apart, Steve?" she added bluntly. "And be honest."

Steve considered it. Maybe she was pressuring it, but breaking it apart? He didn't think so. Soda and Steve had suffered through times like this before, and they'd remained best friends. And it wasn't exactly _Friday _who was adding tension on the situation. It was more of Vietnam in general. "

"I don't _think _you are," said Steve slowly. He took his girlfriend's hand and smiled, and Friday managed to grin back, but faintly. "Don't worry your head about it, all right? Me an' Soda'll get past this." The pair weren't exactly fighting anymore, but the tension still remained, and both he _and _Soda realized that it wasn't just going to vanish.

Friday was quiet, so Steve went back over to the mirror, finished greasing his hair, and told her, "I've gotta run to Buck's place real quick. I gotta talk to Two-Bit about somethin'." Steve had mentioned Two-Bit before, so Friday knew who he was referring to. "You wanna come along? It ain't exactly the kinda place for someone like you, but if ya want…" He shrugged, faltering.

"Yeah," Friday agreed instantly. She didn't want to be left there alone, where she could spend an hour replaying what had happened between her and Soda. "I need to distract myself for a while anyway."


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter twenty-two.

This chapter is a _huge _milestone in the story.

Enjoy. :3

XXX

Buck's place was just as Friday had imagined— loud, sweaty, and smelling of booze and cigarettes. Most of the occupants were underage, despite the fact that beer, vodka, and even tequila were being passed out _everywhere_. Friday cringed a little. She hadn't ever had alcohol in her life; only when her mother had given her a sip. She wasn't exactly embarrassed by this—why should she be? She was only sixteen—but the realization made her uncomfortable.

"This place smells _awful_," said Friday as her and Steve entered. She crinkled her nose, which caused Steve to snicker.

"Well, what exactly were ya expectin'? Roses?" He smiled, touched Friday's hair lightly, and turned as a very loud, _very _distinguishable laugh came from the corner of the room. Friday looked where Steve was, and saw what _had _to be Two-Bit. Steve had described him before, and the long sideburns and grey eyes were traits very _unlikely _for anyone else to have.

Steve tapped Friday's shoulder and asked, "Ya wanna meet 'em?"

Friday exhaled. The alcoholic scent was sickening, and she just wanted to sit down. "Er, later maybe. Plus…" She gazed over at Two-Bit, who had booze dribbling down his chin. "He ain't lookin' real sober anyway."

Steve agreed, but said nothing. He kissed Friday full on the mouth, and then made his way through the crowd of intoxicated young adults. By the countertop, was Two-Bit. There were two girls beside him. One was tipsy, the other wasted. They were both blonde.

Two-Bit pounded his fist against the table and laughed aloud, causing the two girls to snicker along with him. Someone must've said something awful funny.

"Two-Bit!" called Steve over the music, reaching him. Friday was right, Two-Bit seemed _completely _and _utterly _wasted, beyond communication anyway. This irritated Steve, because he'd wanted to ask for Two-Bit's advice on the situation with Soda and him. Although they'd "settled" it, he was still just as confused and scared as Soda was. He wanted a second opinion, aside from his girlfriend's.

"Two-Bit!" he called again. Two-Bit looked straight at him, but did not acknowledge him. Instead, he kept on laughing. Steve tried again, but was given the same response, so he relented. He wouldn't be able to talk to Two-Bit until some other time—when he _wasn't _completely out of his mind.

Steve made his way back over to Friday, looking exasperated. Friday sat by the counter. A boy with shaggy-looking hair beside her seemed to have coaxed her into a little drinking, because she was staring timidly at a shot of vodka. Usually, Steve knew he would have stopped her from taking it. But she was just so damn _stressed _lately, he thought it would do her some good.

"You gonna drink that?" said Steve, sitting next to her. Friday shook her head, and pushed it toward him. The boy with shaggy hair had become preoccupied with something else, and went off with a couple of his buddies. Steve shrugged, downed the shot, and then coughed. Vodka constantly burnt his throat, but it was an acquired taste that he enjoyed anyway.

"Take a beer," said Steve, reaching for an unopened can across the countertop. "Better than vodka, I think. Well… uhm, easier. I think." He paused. "Ya haven't drank before, have ya?"

Friday shook her head. "Naw… not really." However, she denied the beverage. "I dunno if it's a good idea for me to—"

"Aw, come _on_, Friday," Steve persuaded. "It ain't gonna hurt."

"But Steve—"

Steve gave her a _look_, then smiled kindly. "Just go ahead an' take it. C'mon," he urged. Finally, Friday agreed. She sipped it slowly, then choked a little as it hurt her throat. Soon though, she became acquainted with the taste.

"Hey," she said perkily, looking up. "It's pretty good."

"Told ya," Steve said proudly. He got his own beer and finished it off, but by _that _time, Friday had already finished her first and was halfway through her second. "Er, hold on, babe. You don't wanna drink _too _much…" He didn't want Friday to end up wasted like that blonde with Two-Bit. He only wanted her stress eased. But… she must've known the consequences of drinking too much, but was _all right _with them. She'd finished her second now, and was going for her third.

"Friday," said Steve warningly, stopping her. Friday nudged his hand away and grabbed her third, then smiled crookedly.

"I'll be all right," she said. That eased him a little, and he kicked his drinking up a notch, as well. Same as Friday, he was stressed too. Honestly, they both deserved to have a little fun.

A quarter way through her fourth beer—or was it her fifth?—Friday as looking _awful_ tipsy. She stood up, staggered, hiccupped, and then giggled as she swayed and fell flat on her ass. Steve wasn't very sober by that point either, otherwise he would've helped her up. Instead though, he chuckled and got up from the counter himself. Friday stood, steadying herself, and grabbed onto her boyfriend's shoulder, laughing.

"Wanna dance?" Her voice was an obnoxious slur, but Steve agreed and went with her. They bumped into others as they danced, but most people were so out of it they didn't even notice. Eventually, after they were good and sweaty and about twenty minutes into dancing, Friday eased herself up against Steve. Steve stiffened, exhaled, and muttered, "What're you doing?" His voice was low, slurred—though not quite as slurred as Friday's—and slightly hoarse.

Friday giggled, then smiled _alluringly_ and pressed her mouth against Steve's. Steve hesitated, but kissed her back eventually. His hands were pushed up against her body, and in time roamed their way up to her torso, where they rested. Friday was totally content with this, and even deepened their lip-locking herself. They continued, staggering and hitting into others as they kissed, rather roughly. Eventually, they came across a couple who was sober enough to snap, "Get the fuck out of my way and find a room."

They continued to stumble, unconsciously guiding themselves toward the back room. Friday slammed into the doorframe, and maneuvered herself out of its way, and then found her and Steve _inside_ the room. Someone shut the door _violently _behind them—which was likely the couple they'd ticked off by hitting into— and their making out deepened.

Throughout this, Friday had nearly zero idea of what was actually occurring. She could _feel _the most important occurrences—the shirt behind slipped over her head, for instance—but didn't realize what was actually happening.

Steve had a bit more control than her, but not much. And even with the minimum amount of control he still had, he was amped up on booze and hormones, among other things. His brain was foggy, uncontrolled, numb, and the scent of sweat and the intense heat that seemed to be _everywhere _didn't help. Why was it _so damn hot_?

Steve quickly smeared the sweat from his brow, then kissed his way down Friday's jawline, ghosting over her collarbone, and making his way down.

Outside, he could still hear Two-Bit laughing.


End file.
